


Cinnamon Toothpaste

by silentwings4



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Church Volunteer Castiel, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Homeless Dean, Homelessness, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor Religious Overtones, Non-Penetrative Sex, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:43:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5157407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentwings4/pseuds/silentwings4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is homeless, with too much pride to ask for help and no way to better his situation. Castiel Novak volunteers for his church and feels oddly drawn towards Dean. A strange friendship sparks between the two, Castiel seeming dead set on trying to understand Dean’s situation and helping him, to the reluctant acceptance of the man who doesn’t have much left to lose. This friendship progresses into something else and all the pieces slowly fall into place, but there’s more to work through than either anticipates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Art Post: [tumblr](http://stardustpaths.tumblr.com/post/132687801863)
> 
>  
> 
> I'd just like to take a minute to express my immense gratitude for everyone who has helped me on this journey. This was the first fanfiction I've ever written completed in my life, and it feels like such an amazing accomplishment even if there was a lot more I wish I could've done with this story.
> 
> I'd first like to thank my artist for dealing with me the entire time we were working together when my schooling was really taking its toll on me. The artwork that they were able to create never fails to bring me a smile and I am just so grateful, not only for the art, but for the camaraderie they brought to me while I edited.
> 
> Next, I want to thank my unofficial betas and those who offered encouragement through the writing process. Gaby, I must have screenshotted at least fifty snapchats where you motivated me to write and ultimately complete this fic. I honestly don't think I could've done it without you. Nev, your kind words and never-ending smiles not only helped me with my writing but also in my personal life. Heather, you may not be an active member of this fandom, but I'm so glad you were an active member in my writing process and put up with all of my complaining.
> 
> In conclusion, I'd like to thank anyone and everyone who read or will read this story of mine. Your words and kudos are more than enough validation for spending so much time putting these characters into this universe of mine.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://lionheartedcas.tumblr.com)

   
  
---  
  
Dean turned the corner to the familiar worn street where he'd been frequenting lately, eyes cast down at the cracked sidewalk beneath his feet. It didn't matter how often he checked in at the career center to see if they had anything for him; they would never be able to find adequate work for a high school dropout who could do little more than fix a car engine and had no way to prove it.

It had been a single week and Dean was still reminding himself that it hadn't been an entire year. He wasn't sure if it had passed by extremely fast or excruciatingly slow, but Dean knew that he would go insane if he didn't adapt to this lifestyle quickly. Still, in the back of his mind, he also knew that he didn't want to adapt—that this wasn't a life he should get used to, though it really wasn't as if he had a choice.

He slumped against the sun-bleached brick wall of an old deli that had gone out of business a while ago, his eyes tracking the people walking along the street with obvious intent to ignore him and those around him. Dean knew that he didn't look as bad as some of the men who occupied the same space as him, yet it was apparent in his worn clothing and dirtied hair that he was just as homeless.

Typically the late afternoons on 12th Avenue were oppressively somber, but today there seemed to be an anticipation in the air that no one could accurately describe. In his bones, Dean could feel that something was going to happen, even if he couldn't explain it with his brain. It was frustrating, to feel like a big change was coming his way but not wanting to hope for it for fear of disappointment.

While Dean was sorting through his thoughts, a commotion sounded from the street corner behind the old deli. In an instant, a group of overly-happy individuals all dressed in red sweaters sporting a Garrison Unitarian Universalist Church logo were moving along the sidewalk towards him. Great, a bunch of bible thumpers hoping to help out the less fortunate and introduce them to the Lord; just what Dean needed to make the day worse.

Tinny voices rang out, offering sandwiches to the men and making small talk with those who accepted. A woman with curled blonde hair offered him a sandwich in a Ziploc bag, which Dean easily refused, and a man with a wide smile tried insisting that Dean accept the food. He hadn't eaten since the previous afternoon, but Dean had no desire to take a sandwich when he knew it would force him to be appreciative and listen to their religious shtick.

There were fifteen or twenty of them, all buzzing around like insects. Dean remained in the background, watching the scene and hoping that his face radiated a false disinterest. It was actually quite an interesting scene. The red sweaters were cheery despite the discouraging surroundings. The other homeless men gave toothless smiles and shook the hands of those who offered them food, some going as far as accepting from more than one person and hoarding sandwiches for later.

Dean figured that he had made it clear that he wouldn't be accepting their charity until a shadow fell across Dean's face. A man who couldn't be too much older than Dean himself stood in front of him with a stern expression fixed to his features. He held out another of the baggies with a pristinely made sandwich inside, and before Dean could mutter a ‘no thanks,' he spoke.

"You aren't being brave by refusing help when you need it."

The words came as a shock to Dean's system and he wouldn't have been able to explain why. It could've been the gravelly delivery or the firm tone used, but it made Dean's chest feel hollow and the words in his throat disappear. Instead of lingering on the shock, Dean turned to feeling irritation—this man knew nothing about his life, who was he to act like he did?

But more than that, shame filtered into Dean's mind and he accepted the sandwich. This man was right, Dean was being dumb for allowing his pride to keep him from an honest meal. It hadn't happened yet, but Dean knew that he would resort to stealing in order to keep himself fed when the time called. If it was part of these people's religion to help him stave off starvation and thievery, who was Dean to deny them?

As he unzipped the baggie, the man dropped his gawk and let a small smile replace it. Dean took a bite out of the sandwich and nodded his approval at the turkey and cheese. The man didn't say anything, just continued his content gaze at Dean's face in a way that made him a little uncomfortable. It wasn't the stare, exactly, that made Dean's skin prickle, but the way the man stood entirely straight-backed over him as Dean sat slumped on the curb.

If Dean had been standing as well, it was completely likely that this man would be entirely within Dean's personal space, and, though he'd deny it, that wasn't something Dean would be opposed to. With the sun shining behind him, it looked as though this man was some type of god. He demanded all of Dean's attention without saying a word, his stare stating a million things, none of which Dean could hope to decipher.

Giving a stout cough and glancing toward the group that the man had arrived with, Dean noticed that they were packing their things. "Uh, I think your people are leaving?" he tried, his throat dry with the scrutiny that this man was regarding him with. His eyes lit as if he had previously been deep in thought while he was watching Dean.

"Right," he gathered himself, voice rough and possibly embarrassed, then turned towards Dean again. "I'm to tell you that if you don't have any illegal paraphernalia on you, my church can offer a place for you to stay the night and get some clothes if you're interested." Dean nodded, even though he knew he wouldn't be taking advantage of the offer anytime soon.

The man continued to leer at Dean for a moment, as if he were some type of abstract art that this man was unable to form an opinion on and would not quit examining until he did, before awkwardly continuing his walk towards the rest of the red sweaters. The cheeriness of the volunteers contrasted entirely with the tired feel that the street side radiated.

The Garrison members continued on in the opposite way they had come, the staring man with them. And Dean couldn't help himself as he watched them turn the street corner, putting an odd amount of self-control into not straining his neck after them. Instead, he returned to the sandwich he had been given, thankful for the temporary reprieve from hunger and totally not wondering after the man who had given him it.

· · ·

Dean had all but forgotten the encounter of the day before when he was once again met with a set of probing blue eyes and a red sweater. He hadn't expected the volunteers to return at all, especially so soon. Dean had never seen the people from Garrison Unitarian out helping before, so he thought that maybe it was a one-time thing, but here they were again.

"I didn't introduce myself yesterday," the man says without preamble. "My name is Castiel. I'm a volunteer of the church." Today, Dean was sitting on the curb with his feet in the neglected street, and was not unpleasantly surprised when this man, Castiel, sat next to him, holding another sandwich to him and placing a grocery bag at his feet.

"I'm Dean." Such an eloquent introduction. He considered reaching out to shake Castiel's hand but instead took the sandwich from him. Dean had found something for breakfast but was not about to turn down the food like he had attempted to yesterday.

As he took a bite, Dean was slightly afraid that Castiel would ask him why he hadn't come to the church for a place to sleep. Of course it wasn't because he had illegal paraphernalia on his person (since he didn't, as far as he knew), just that he wasn't down on his luck enough to seek out a shelter. It may have been a pride thing, but accepting a sandwich and asking for clothes and shelter were two very different things.

Instead, Castiel didn't say another word, which was a bit awkward but more welcome than being reprimanded again. Dean lazily chewed on his sandwich, which tasted like pastrami rather than the turkey from yesterday, and watched the other Garrison volunteers.

A girl with a perky face and blonde hair separated into pigtails bounced over and gave Castiel a gallon baggie filled with an assortment of items. Muttering a, "thank you, Rachael," Castiel handed the bag off to Dean.

"Uh, in there are some combs, wet wipes, a dental kit, and believe a razor in there. Just so you're able to keep up your personal hygiene as best you can while you're in this situation." Castiel spoke, lingering on the word ‘situation' as if he were afraid of the reaction it would bring.  Dean responded by opening the zipper and rummaging through the supplies.

Pulling out a tube of toothpaste, Dean curled his lip in an exaggerated form of disgust. "Cinnamon toothpaste? C'mon, I may be homeless, but I do have some standards," he joked, before realizing that that probably sounded extremely rude.

"I could go and find you another package with a more appropriate toothpaste flavor?" Castiel's eyebrows pulled together in bemusement.

"Nah, I was just joking. I mean, cinnamon is pretty gross, but I can live with it," Dean gave the volunteer a small smirk.

"I respect your opinion, but that happens to be the same type of toothpaste I brush with," Castiel replied with an unmistakable hint of sass that Dean was not prepared for. He threw his head back with laughter, and when he regained himself he noticed that the furrow of Castiel's brow had only increased.

Despite how adorable Castiel was when he was confused (whoa, Winchester, where did that come from?), Dean decided to change the subject. "So what's in the Walmart bag?" he asked, gesturing to the bag that sat forgotten at Castiel's feet.

"Oh, yeah, I may have brought you a pair of clothing from the church's closet? It's not technically allowed, and I had to guess on the sizes, but it made sense at the time. I now see that it could be considered impolite to make such an assumption of your status—"

"No, no, it's totally fine. I actually could use another set of clothes." Dean cut in, noticing that Castiel had lowered his eyes and was picking at his cuticles while he stumbled over his words. He waited until he caught Castiel's gaze again before uttering a hopefully sincere-sounding ‘thanks.' Dean kept a backpack with him at all times, packed with the few pairs of clothes he did have, as well as some other choice items that he had left home with.

Dean took the bag but didn't inspect its contents just yet, as he noticed that the red sweaters were congregating at the end of the street. It was especially weird that they all wore these matching sweaters when it was mid-August and the sun was beaming overhead, but none of the volunteers looked ill-eased.

"So are you guys going to be coming around every day now with sandwiches and stuff?" Dean questioned, conversationally.

"Yes, a week or so ago we all came up with an idea to help with the homelessness in the area, so we thought that this would be a simple and effective way to help. I probably will not be participating in all of the excursions—my classes start in less than a month—but hopefully I can come out a few times a week in between the college chaos."

It was interesting to Dean that Castiel was attending college soon, as he hadn't been able to finish high school with the responsibility on his shoulders. There was immediately an abundance of questions on Dean's tongue; had Castiel picked a major? What classes would he be taking this semester? Did he know what he wanted to pursue as a career? However, Castiel stood and motioned that he would be joining his group and continuing down the road, stopping all of Dean's questions in his throat.

Since when did Dean care about someone else's life goals? It wasn't as if he and this Castiel had known each other for more than a total of twenty minutes. And Dean was in absolutely no position to try to make friends with someone who saw his current life as a situation in need of other's charity (even though it kind of was), so why did he feel pleased with the knowledge that Castiel would more than likely be back to talk to him tomorrow?

Castiel gave a short nod and another few seconds of amiable staring before turning on his heel and almost jogging to the group which was waiting specifically on him. This time, as Garrison volunteers rounded the corner, Castiel was looking back at Dean, too.

· · ·

The sunlight shone on Dean's closed eyelids and illuminated past them in pink, making the entire attempt at resting in the sun futile. The sun was brutal, burns inevitable, and Dean had no desire to use any energy besides the necessary. He'd spent the morning walking the city's main avenue, looking for any signs that indicated the desire to hire, but finding nothing that he hadn't already looked into. Most places wouldn't hire anyone who couldn't offer a permanent address.

Of course, most of the time he could found outside the ramshackle bakery. Dean didn't want to risk someone he knew going on a Sunday stroll and running into him, so he remained just on the edge of town that most people considered an undesirable place to travel. It didn't matter that he had to keep his backpack containing his things close to him at all times for fear of thieves, as long as he could remain out of the view of the people that mattered.

Though, someone that had recently come to matter always knew where to find Dean, and the thought didn't repulse he would have thought a few weeks ago.

Castiel didn't lie when he said he expected to come every day, because, by the clock on the cracked wristwatch Dean wore, he was always rounding the corner by four.

"How long have you been out here?" Castiel asked that day after handing him another perfect sandwich. Dean wondered if he was referring to being in the sun or living on the street, but knowing Castiel's blunt approach to most subjects, he assumed the latter.

"A couple of weeks, not long," he replied flippantly, eyeing the sandwich crust for the best place to make the first bite. He didn't want to have this conversation, knowing that they had a limited amount of time to talk before Castiel had to move on and not keen on spending it taking about his fuckups. Especially because he could anticipate the next question.

"Can I ask why?" Dean didn't want to get upset, but resentment curled at the pit of his stomach.

"You can ask, but I don't think I'll answer." He tried to keep his voice nonchalant, but he feared that a bit of bitterness colored his tone. Castiel's eyebrows drew together and he looked away while Dean ate away at his sandwich. He didn't mean to offend, but Dean figured he would wait until Castiel changed the subject to speak.

Dean would figure he'd have tired of sandwiches after having one at the same time every day for a week, but it was nothing of the sort. He anticipated them, knowing he wouldn't have to waste money more money on food than he already did. The only money he had available to him was what he had had saved up and what he could hustle out of drunkards at a bar on occasion. It wasn't his favorite way to make money, but it worked until something more permanent could be found.

People all around made small talk about the heat, many of the volunteers wearing sunglasses and shorts to stave off the sun's power while they walked around giving out food and supplies. Dean glanced to Castiel's attire and noted that he wasn't wearing the sweater today either, and the short sleeved shirt exposed Castiel's tanned forearms. Before Dean's eyes could start roaming over the skin and the rest of Castiel's body, he averted his eyes northward, catching the man passively examining his face.

Dean raised his eyebrows in a question of, ‘why are you staring at me like that?' and Castiel's face became pink-tinged with what Dean assumed to be embarrassment. It was endearing, honestly, the word coming to quick to his mind as Castiel opened his mouth with the intention to explain himself.

"It's just that your—your freckles are quite prominent when the sun is," he stuttered a bit, cheeks darkening further. Dean smiled at the comment, as it had been made out like it was a compliment and Dean wasn't receiving many positive statements these days.

"The sun is almost unbearable today it seems," Castiel continued, his gaze moving from Dean's face to the clouds behind him. "I hope you have someplace to go to escape from the excessive UV rays?" Castiel always spoke like he was someone who swallowed a dictionary from the 1950's or paid too much attention to language classes growing up.

"I was thinking about going to the library, there's a nice set up and the librarians are always good flirts," Dean smirked, remembering the brunette who he'd made out with after hours the previous week, before she'd asked if he'd take her home with him. "Who knows, maybe I'll hustle some pool tonight and make a quick buck."

Castiel frowned, "Hustling seems pejorative to me, is it safe to do that?"

"It can be dangerous unless you're good at it like I am. Trust me, I've been doing this since I learned the rules of pool."

His frown didn't waver, but he didn't press the subject besides urging him to stay out of trouble. "You said you'd go to the library today, what books particularly interest you?"

"Um, I guess I usually go for the classics? I've always liked Vonnegut so I've read a few of his. I think I read Slaughterhouse Five three different times in high school before I dropped out. Lovecraft was pretty wordy, but the Call of Cthulhu wasn't a bad read. How about you?"

"Firstly, I wouldn't peg you for a Vonnegut fan, but to each their own. I think you and I have different definitions of the word ‘classic' as well, since I would say my favorite works are classics but I usually consider that to be Dante or Homer, maybe even J. K. Rowling."

"Oh no, I had to sit through my brother's Harry Potter phase and that was bad enough, don't tell me you're into that, too?" Dean feigned annoyance, hoping that Castiel wouldn't take his bad acting seriously.

"Gryffindor born and raised. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating there, as my family wasn't too keen on my reading books that they believed to be sacrilegious," Castiel smiled, toothily, which was an odd look on him only because Dean had never seen it before.

"What about movies? If you liked Harry Potter then you'd have to have seen Indiana Jones or Star Wars," Dean ventured, using his brother's varied tastes in books and movies as a reference point. Dean missed the days when Sam was the shortest one in the house and grudgingly agreed to Harrison Ford movie marathons.

"I can't say that I've ever seen those. I haven't seen many movies actually—I grew up without the luxury of a television in the house." Dean practically gaped, not even being able to imagine a childhood without cartoons and action movies, even pay-per-view porn that would watch the previews repeatedly while avoiding making a purchase on whichever credit card his dad was scamming at the moment.

"My classes start tomorrow," he changed the subject, conversationally. He probably felt that a rant from Dean's side was likely if he had to admit to which of Dean's favorite movies he'd never seen.

"Are you nervous?" Dean didn't want to ask the question on his tongue. Would Castiel still be visiting him every day when he had things more important than a kid on the street? When they'd first met, Castiel had mentioned that he may have to cut down on his hours with the church if his workload got too big, but Dean hadn't realized how close the possibility was.

"It's my first semester in a college, so a little, but I signed up for mostly prerequisite classes to get them out of my way and acquaint myself with the logistics of student life."

"Cas!" A redhead with a pixie cut called from the opposite sidewalk where the Garrison members had continued on their volunteering exploit. "We're leaving!" Castiel threw Dean an apologetic look at the realization that their conversation was being brought to an end. Dean waved a hand to show it was no big deal and watched as Castiel stood and strode to the girl, who wore a broad smile on her face.

Once Castiel was out of sight, Dean swung his backpack over his shoulder and made his way towards the midtown. Dean certainly felt silly being a grown man in mud-spattered jeans sitting and reading the first Harry Potter book in a public library. Still, the library's closing caught up on him and by the time Harry had made his first friend in probably his entire life, Dean was being approached and told that he should come back tomorrow if he wasn't planning on checking his books out.

The calm of sunset was overhead when Dean returned to the natural world outside of the library, and it wouldn't be long before it was dark. A strange energy was bubbling under his skin and he felt like he wouldn't have been able to fall asleep if he'd wanted to, not even if he were in a plush bed instead of a rough street corner.

Dean made his way to a dive bar a few blocks from the library, a place frequented by truck drivers and people who didn't care if the glass their beer came in was a little dirty. He scoped the room and tried to find the best person to try and win money off of in a game of pool, the familiar buzz drumming in his pulse from the thrill.

He was calculating about it, trying to see who was drunk enough to defend his pride horribly and who was still capable of figuring the angles necessary to win the game. The perfect score was waddling over to the pool table as Dean set his sights on him—a slim guy with an unimpressive beard who was sloshing beer over his hand as he moved, talking loud about how much better he was at pool than his friend. The friend was saying that they didn't want to play and that ‘Roy' should find someone who was actually interested in confirming his pride.

"I'll put twenty dollars on my winning," Dean offered, knowing that if he started with a small amount the guy would insist on a higher wager. Roy looked Dean up in down, probably thinking it was an easy win and flashed his yellowed teeth.

"You're so sure you'll win, why don't we raise the stakes to a hundred?"

"I don't know about that," Dean gave a false appearance of nervousness, playing the part he'd perfected years ago. If he seemed unsure about it and Roy was able to ‘convince' him, it would be just that easy to get his confidence up to a level where they didn't feel the need to try. And then Dean could come in after a few turns and hit every ball he wanted to with cheers of disbelief at his own "luck."

"C'mon, it's an easy hundred in your pocket, sweetheart," Roy's rancid voice dripped with honey and turned Dean's veins to acid at his disgust.

"Sure, okay," Dean smirked, his guise of innocence dropped and his original plan being changed to the route that would humiliate Roy the most. The game started easily, Dean racking up the balls with a little unnecessary force and feeling Roy's leer as he leaned to make a clean break. Roy ended up pocketing the first ball, leaving Dean with solids and starting the game out of his favor. It didn't matter, though, Dean had won with much worse beginnings.

Balls flew across the green table-top, bringing more than a few interested bar patrons to watch the heated match grow more so. Roy was in that pleasant zone between buzzed and drunk, and it wasn't affecting his skills as much as Dean originally thought so. More than once the thought passed through Dean's mind that he himself was being hustled, but it only strengthened his resolve to win.

Roy was the first to pocket all of his striped balls, but Dean kept the cue ball out of the way of the eight ball well enough to get his pocketed before he lost the game. It was down to the single black ball and Roy was sneering at it as he lined up an impossible shot. Dean knew he wouldn't make it because he hadn't tried to measure his angle at all before batting the ball towards a corner pocket.

Dean smiled. The way it had bounced away from one corner made it a perfect shot for the opposite corner if he angled it just right. The bar had gotten stuffy with a number of patrons and the summer night air, and Dean wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead before he leaned to line up the shot. He hit the cue just perfectly and it rolled slowly to the pocket, falling in with a satisfying clank against the other balls occupying the space.

Dean rose from his place over the table, turning to where Roy had been just a second before and coming into full contact with a fist to his cheek. "You son of a bitch," Roy hollered as he pulled his fist back for another hit. It made contact with Dean's ribs and sent an excruciating blast of pain through his chest. Dean fell to the floor beside the table, arm hooking against the raised edge and keeping him from falling flat on his back.

Roy ripped his wallet from his back pocket and threw four twenties on the floor by Dean's feet, before turning red faced to grab his friend and leave. Dean immediately snatched the dollars before anyone else got the idea to, shoving them in his pocket and pulling himself to standing despite the agony along his left side. He could feel the eyes on him and rolled his shoulders as if he weren't affected in the least bit.

Dean could handle a little pain if it meant he would be able to eat for the next week.


	2. Chapter 2

At the end of his first day of classes, Castiel was both excited and wary of the semester ahead of him. He was only taking his basic prerequisites, but with a full schedule of them he knew that they would pile against him easily. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, even though they had only gone over the syllabi today. If he did, it wouldn’t be hard for him to become so busy with his classwork that his work at the church would suffer.

Castiel had grown up in a religious family and it felt right to be in a congregation, helping the community, despite his recent doubts about Heaven. One thing Castiel loved about Garrison was that they were a Unitarian Universalist Church and didn’t preach a specific belief, but the pursuit of spiritual growth. In fact, there were quite a number of atheists and pagans among the congregation, so his religious doubts weren’t too big a deal.

Arriving at his apartment, he dumped his books on the rickety coffee table and all but fell into his couch cushions. Castiel’s muscles melted into the upholstery, having been tense for hours while he warred with his anxiety during the class sessions. He knew he could only rest for a few minutes before he needed to be heading to Garrison, but he desperately needed the reprieve from being active.

Castiel knew that volunteering every day himself wasn’t necessary; with so many others who were dedicated to helping, Castiel’s absence for a day would make little difference. Since the start of the volunteering program, a large number of the congregation had taken an interest in it. Still, he wanted to be able to go whenever possible, if not for the satisfaction of aiding those in need, then for the ability to see Dean again.

It had been about three weeks since that first excursion where they had met, and Castiel had made it a personal goal to try and find Dean on each day that the volunteers made rounds. Castiel liked Dean, he found it easy to talk to him and honestly considered Dean to be one of his friends, despite the fact that they’d never talked outside of the volunteering trips.

Even though they talked for only a few minutes a day, Castiel found himself treasuring those moments and lingering on them throughout the day. He’d be washing dishes and suddenly wonder if Dean had been able to get enough to eat the previous day. Walking around town, Castiel would question where Dean was and what he was doing. Still, Castiel had never sought Dean out outside of the volunteering hours, unsure if that would look creepy or make Dean think he were a stalker.

Castiel had a difficult time understanding what was considered unacceptable (besides the obvious) in social situations, and did not want to make Dean uncomfortable by showing up randomly to ask how he was doing. Even so, Castiel desperately wished that he were able to help this man in some way more than just bringing him a sandwich each day.

As Castiel gathered himself to leave for the church, he considered that maybe he was getting too involved in the matter. He knew nothing of Dean’s background, how he had become homeless or anything else. For all he knew, Dean could have an extensive criminal record.

Castiel’s car was parked across the lot from his apartment building, in the same place he always parked it. A worn ‘09 Subaru Legacy, it had once been given to his older brother in high school before he got a new one. Gabe had always complained that it ‘wasn’t cool enough’ for him, but Castiel found it fully functional and capable of serving its purpose. Of course, that was the difference between him and his closest brother: Castiel focused on the practicality while Gabe was more concerned how it affected his self-image.

Not to say that Castiel’s brother was conceited, Gabriel just had a set of standards he liked to live by, and the majority of them were purely secular. Still, Gabe had always been a good brother, and Castiel still considered them close as they’d gotten older. Twenty-one wasn’t exactly old, but he got a call every other week from his brother asking how he’d been.

The church was less than ten minutes away, and Castiel felt his stomach tighten with the smallest bit of unexplainable anxiety. He was the first to admit that he had difficulty relating with others, let alone making friends, and he felt like he was doing something right when he talked to Dean. Castiel could recall each of the individual conversations they’d had, simply because they hadn’t lasted longer than a few moments.

It was easy to forget that he was volunteering when it so often felt nothing like a job. More than once his volunteer group had left him behind while he conversed with Dean to continue their service to the rest of the city, but even with the opportunity Castiel hadn’t stayed once he realized. He was eager to spend time with Dean, but he didn’t want anyone to realize it. He wasn’t supposed to be befriending any of the people they were helping, he was sure some members of the congregation would tell him.

Castiel pulled into a parking place at the side of the building and made his way to the multi-purpose room at the back of the church. Thirty or so people shuffled around in the spacious room, an assembly line of sandwich makers lining the counters. A few people acknowledged Castiel’s entrance, tipping their heads and speaking their welcome.

Charlie, one of Castiel’s admittedly limited friend group, sped over with a quick hug despite the fact that they had literally seen each other the previous day. Unlike the majority of the volunteers, Charlie was wearing a shirt printed with a Battlestar Galactica logo instead of the red sweater they had been given. Of course, the sweaters weren’t required uniform, it was just what most tended to wear to volunteer. Charlie always complained that she couldn’t wear red or it would clash with her hair, but Castiel didn’t think it was a bad color on her.

“How was your first day of college, _Class_ -tiel,” she grinned, punctuating her horrible attempt at a joke.

With an eye-roll and a raised eyebrow, Castiel responded, “Long. I can’t wait to get home and get to sleep.”

“Well, you didn’t have to come volunteer if you weren’t feeling up to it.” And before Castiel could put a word in, a sly smile stretched across Charlie’s features. “Unless you just wanted to talk to your new _friend_ ,” she considered, placing an odd amount of weight on the final word.

“I’m not sure what you’re inferring by that choice of emphasis, and I’m not sure I want to find out.” Castiel spoke hesitantly. He couldn’t see Charlie being malicious in her use of any information that he chose to confide in her, but his desire of a friendship in Dean was something too personal to tell even one of his closest friends.

Of course, his unwillingness to share this feeling with Charlie may have also stemmed from her close proximity to Gabriel, who Castiel was adamant on keeping his private life from. It wasn’t hard and the endless taunting from an older brother was something Castiel had learned to circumvent. Charlie worked as a barista and confectioner for Gabriel, and, though he truly loved her, Castiel was fully aware of her inability to keep a secret longer than a few hours.

Before Charlie could say another word on the subject (and it was obvious that she had many words to say), the congregation was called to order, and they were led in a prayer circle that was interestingly without any religious-bias. All the sandwiches were placed carefully into tote bags, and the group made their way out of the church and into the world of the hungry.

There were a few blocks that the Garrison volunteers visited before the avenue that Dean could be found at. Castiel maintained a charitable grin as he handed out sandwich after sandwich to the less fortunate. The homelessness problem in his city was terrible and the country’s recent economic issues had not benefited the situation in the least. It felt good to be able to assist, even though there was probably more Castiel could’ve been able to do.

He was a college student, though, with the right amount of scholarship money to pay his tuition for the community college he was attending for the first two years and his parents’ savings account after that. Castiel wanted to get an Associate’s Degree while he decided on what he wanted to do with his life, and it made more sense to do it at a community college where he could get the same education for a significantly less amount of money. It wasn’t as if his parents hadn’t immediately wanted him to apply for bigger universities, it was more that he wanted to take everything slow while he still could. He was lucky that he didn’t have to go out and find a job immediately, that his parents gave him enough money to keep him fed and clothed each month without having to worry.

Castiel didn’t like that he was still dependent on his parents despite being out of the house, but he wasn’t going to pass it up yet. Castiel figured he should call his mother up soon and give her a report, but he knew he would put it off as long as he could. His parents had been emotionally repressive for the entirety of his teenage years, and he’d only recently learned that stoicism wasn’t expected from the world like it had been in their house. Charlie and Gabriel, who’d followed the rules of the home up until he ran out at eighteen, had been helpful in bringing Castiel out of his shell, and he liked himself more without the constant fear of being disapproved of.

There was a much-needed breeze flowing around the corner of 11th and 12th Avenues, tickling Cas’ ears and bringing a smile to his face. Of course, the wind may not have had anything to do with the gleam, it could’ve been the sandy hair coming into view as he walked ever closer to the abandoned building marking the outskirts of town.

Castiel wouldn’t have been able to tell anything different from the slouched posture that Dean typically held himself in, and he grabbed a sandwich from the large, wheeled cooler being toted around from place to place. He smoothed out the plastic covering without thinking about it, and strolled to the mass resting by the building. He assumed that Dean was merely sleeping, but maybe it was just the allure of a midday nap that brought Castiel to this conclusion.

Dean was wrapped in a hooded windbreaker, which was entirely unnecessary given the time of year and the weather, but was clutching his ribs on either side of his torso. It was his face, however, that truly alarmed Castiel that his friend was in trouble. It was shadowed by the hood, but the dark purple bruise was obvious despite it. It existed across his left cheek in a morbid bloom, and it had to have had an enormous amount of force behind it.

“Dean, what happened?” Castiel asked, shocked, as he tossed the sandwich into Dean’s lap and crouched at his face. Their noses were inches apart as Castiel brought a hand up to probe lightly at the battered flesh. Dean opened his mouth as if to retaliate, but closed it and found Castiel’s eyes instead. The volunteers were loud in the background, but Castiel couldn’t hear anything besides the faint breathing of the man sitting in front of him. “Was it someone here?” He questioned again in a smaller voice, feeling as if he should glance to some of the other homeless men around them but not having the resolve to tear his eyes away from the gleaming green irises.

“No, remember how I said I was good at hustling pool? I might’ve picked a bad target last night,” Dean seemed almost embarrassed to be admitting that he’d exaggerated, but Cas was more worried about the injury.

“It happened last night? Did you put any ice on it? Do you need us to take you to a hospital, it would really be no problem—“

“Cas, no, I’m fine, no doctors,” Dean said over Castiel’s rushed words. “I’ve gotten plenty of bruises before, nothing is broken and it’ll heal eventually.”

Castiel gave a look of contempt at the nonchalant way Dean was dealing with his injury. It was a big deal. Dean had told Castiel about his attempts to find a job, and there was no way he’d be hired with a swollen bruise marring a third of his face. Castiel searched Dean’s eyes for anything he wasn’t willing to speak but found nothing.

He straightened from his crouch and walked towards the cooler, finding an empty grocery back and placing a handful of ice cubes in it. The ice was a welcomed chill in the oppressive heat, but Castiel knew it would melt soon. Still, a few minutes of ice on his face should subside the swelling. Racheal, who was watching the cooler and keeping inventory, side-eyed him suspiciously and Castiel gave an awkward shrug.

As Dean pressed the ice to his bruise with a low hiss, he fumbled with something in his pocket. Castiel hadn’t noticed the black cord running from Dean’s pocket to his ear, but he now recognized it as an earbud. It must be some sort of a music player in his pocket, and in the weeks he’d been visiting with him, he’d never noticed Dean listening to music. Castiel wondered how he kept batteries in it, or how he’d uploaded music to it, or even where it came from.

“I didn’t steal the iPod,” Dean uttered, resigned.

“I wouldn’t have alleged that you had,” Castiel replied, almost offended. “I was going to ask what type of music you listen to.”

“Sure,” he didn’t sound convinced. “Um, I guess I like the classics. But not, like, Beethoven or that shit, more like Zeppelin or Metallica. You?”

“I don’t really think I have a preferred genre of music, I’ll listen to most anything.” Castiel smiled as he recounted, “I remember at one point in middle school, the only music I would listen to was New Age.”

Dean pulled his eyebrows together for a moment before asking, “Spa music?” to which Castiel nodded. A full-bodied laugh left Dean’s throat and he tossed his head to the sky, the hand holding the ice bag falling to his chest. “That’s so bad!” He breathed, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye when he finished laughing.

“I was thirteen and stressed,” Castiel smiled, drinking in Dean’s reaction. Pride swelled in his chest, knowing that it was he who had brought such a bout of happiness, and affection with it. It felt so natural, sitting on the curb and bringing a smile to Dean’s face, and Castiel could hardly remember life before knowing him.

Castiel wanted to believe that he’d met Dean sometime in high school, that they’d been friends for years instead of a month. It just made sense that they could’ve sat around a kitchen table and exchanged homework answers. There was no way that the only environment they’d talked in was on this dilapidated street corner. He wished that he’d known Dean and been able to help him before whatever it was that put him on the street had happened.

They talked for a minute or two more, Dean inquiring about Castiel’s first day of school and Castiel giving him a brief description of all his classes and his first impressions of his teachers. Too soon, though, Charlie was tapping him on the back and gesturing for him to leave. She threw in a little wave to Dean as they turned away, and Castiel immediately changed the subject before Charlie could comment on the scene she’d interrupted.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean had been through worse days in his life, but the prospect of days when rain poured despite him having no place to seek shelter made it seem as if he hadn’t. The weather had been kind to him since he’d practically been thrown out of his house, with the summer in its waning stage and hoping to provide warmth before the cool autumn and frosty winter ahead.

There had been a few light showers since that day in early August, but it was nothing Dean couldn’t hide from in the local library for a few hours or get a burger at McDonald’s to eat while waiting it out. Dean was trying to save up any money he was able to come across, but his basic necessities did to be provided for, even if his metaphorical wallet didn’t agree.

The upcoming storms had been a lengthy discussion topic among the homeless men who took residence on the rundown avenue where Dean was currently sitting. He’d been to a Career Connections Center earlier in the day as he had at least four times a week for the last month, and was told the same thing he’d heard each time he’d been: that nothing was available for anyone with his skill set at the moment.

Dean was honestly an inch away from seeking out Ellen and Bobby for help. He knew they’d be able to give him a couch to sleep on for as long as he needed and something to do in the Roadhouse to make a bit of cash. He’d considered it when his dad had first told him to leave, but his dumb pride wouldn’t allow him to go begging to someone who respected him. If he admitted that he wasn’t able to fend for himself to anyone, he’d never be able to face his reflection again.

Honestly, though, his reflection now wasn’t something he could be proud of.

He’d give himself another few days, until the cash he was keeping in his boot was used up and he was desperate. Dean hated the idea of himself being desperate, because that was a term used for housewives and not Dean Winchester, but he was running out of faith in himself at a steady rate and knew he would reach that point eventually.

Although, he still had other options before he needed to bother Bobby and Ellen. Castiel had told him that first day that he could be put up at his church for a few nights if he needed. Dean would have to do some soul-searching to decide if taking aid from strangers was better or worse than asking for it from those close to him.

Of course, he’d been receiving aid from Castiel for the last two months and it didn’t feel like he was burdening anyone at all. Quite the opposite, the man seemed to enjoy talking with Dean on a daily basis. Or maybe Dean was just a little conceited and subconsciously seeking approval? Of course not; Cas was just a weird little dude who was eager to complain about his class assignments and got a little too heated about Neville Longbottom’s role in the Harry Potter books.

Dean didn’t know when he’d taken to calling the Garrison volunteer ‘Cas,’ but it seemed to fit him and liked thinking of the man as a friend. Or, at least a close acquaintance, which was more than he could say about most of the people he’d spoken with since he been on the streets. If he were completely honest with himself (which Winchesters were not notorious for), he would admit that he looked forward to his conversations with Castiel each day, no matter how short-lived they may be.

His attitude brightened whenever he saw the congregation of red sweaters turning the street corner, and Dean would punch anyone who pointed out the toothy smile he sometimes adopted when he finally caught a glimpse of a dark bedhead and brilliant eyes. It had gotten to the point that he didn’t care what the volunteers were handing out (the other day it had been tuna salad sandwiches, which had been at the top of his most hated foods list since birth), as long as it was given with a gravelly, “Hello, Dean.”

Today was no exception. Cas sat against the shabby building next to Dean after handing him a ham sandwich, the crease between his eyebrows a bit deeper than usual. This was probably due to the fact that he had an essay due that day in his art appreciation class that day which had been giving him more trouble than he’d wanted to admit.

“How long did it take for you to finish that essay?” Dean questioned after swallowing his bite of sandwich. He’d once made the mistake of talking with his mouth full and Cas had had disgust etched onto his face for a good five minutes while Dean had totally not giggled.

“I got it done before midnight,” he responded, his voice hinting that there was more on his mind than schoolwork.

“Something bothering you?” Dean asked before he took another chunk of the sandwich into his mouth. He’d gotten a dollar-menu biscuit earlier, but it hadn’t curbed his hunger at all.

“It’s just…” he trailed off, as he sometimes did when he was in thought or trying to form the sentence he wanted to. Dean had gotten used to it, and waited patiently until his friend conjured his desired phrase. “There’s supposed to be a horrible storm tonight, and I was going to ask you to take shelter at my church at least until the morning.”

“Oh. I—I don’t—”

“Of course, there will probably be an abundance of people seeking solace from the rain, tonight.” Cas spoke more to himself than Dean, almost as an afterthought he decided to voice. Cas faltered before looking into Dean’s eyes with a bit more scrutiny than was necessary. “Do you think—Would it be too presumptuous of our camaraderie to offer you my couch to sleep on?”

“Huh?” Dean spoke, eloquently. It was one thing to be invited to a shelter, but into someone’s private home and onto their couch? That was an entirely different ballpark. “Cas, I don’t think I can accept an offer like that.”

It was obvious that Castiel was keeping his emotions from appearing on his face as he breathed, “Yes, I understand.”

“No, I’m grateful for the offer, I really am. It’s just…you don’t really know much about me. I could be a serial killer, or I could steal all of your stuff while you sleep, or—“

Castiel snickered under his breath. “Dean, if you were going to kill me or rob me do you think you’d admit that to me? I consider you to be one of my friends, and I’m sorry if I’m overstepping my boundaries in that assumption. I’d hate for you to be out in the rain with a storm this bad on the way.”

“I don’t think you’re ‘overstepping’ anything, I’d like to consider you a friend too, I just think that that’s too big of an offer for me to accept,” Dean explained, feeling shitty for a reason he couldn’t exactly name.

“Thank you for being honest with me, Dean, and I do hope you’ll seek some shelter tonight.”

“No problem, Cas,” he replied with a small smile. “So how was school? You have that speech to give soon, have you decided on a topic?” Dean was fervent to change the subject, feeling like he had somehow exposed himself to Cas without having said too many words. Vulnerable was one word that Dean hated to describe himself with more than desperate.

If Castiel had already made Dean feel vulnerable, Dean was not avid on seeing if the man could bring out desperation in him too.

· · ·

Castiel was anxious as he prepared for bed that night. Thunder sounded faintly on the horizon, a premonition of the storm that would be passing through soon. Despite it being late August, there was a chill in the air that had Castiel’s nerves on edge. He figured he’d have a difficult time getting to sleep, and considered boiling a pot of water for chamomile tea, which he typically utilized when rest didn’t seem possible.

It wasn’t the physical storm that had Castiel on edge, but the knowledge that there were so many who would be forced to suffer through it with no shelter. Since the initiation of Garrison’s volunteering project, Castiel had really been able to appreciate the privilege he had of a roof over his head and a functional (though temperamental) heating and air system.

The congregation had tried their best to convince as many people as they could to seek shelter at the church tonight, where they had mattress pads laid out in anticipation of a large crowd. Castiel would have offered to stay and monitor the crowd with a few of the older members of the church, but he had a class early in the morning and knew he needed a good night’s sleep.

He moved across his apartment from his bedroom to the minuscule kitchen, searching for the tea kettle he always had a difficult time finding in his disorganized cabinets. As he filled the kettle enough for a single mug of tea, the first drops of rain hit his window. Before the stove had even heated up, the slow drops had burgeoned into a vigorous pelting, echoes permeating the entire apartment in an almost comforting fashion.

By the time the first streak of lightening cracked outside his window, the kettle had just begun to bubble. Immediately, an unanticipated fear zipped down Castiel’s spine, and he was reaching for the phone before he knew what he was doing. He needed to see if Dean had made it to the shelter, make sure that he wasn’t out in the open being soaked to the bone and in risk of being hit by lightning.

No, that’s crazy, you can’t just call a homeless shelter to check in on someone, Castiel, he realized, putting his phone down. Besides, part of him knew that Dean wouldn’t have accepted any offer of shelter, no matter how horrible he knew the storm approaching to be. Dean had pride that most looking in at his situation would find foolish, but Castiel somehow appreciated.

A feeling of purpose swelled in Castiel’s chest as another boom of thunder sounded overhead—he had to find Dean. He didn’t care that the man had denied his offer of sleeping on his couch, but Castiel wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let someone who had confirmed their friendship earlier that day stay out in a thunderstorm.

The tea kettle had just begun to whistle and Castiel no longer had any intentions of drinking chamomile. He (carefully) threw the kettle to the back burner of the stove and turned the eye off, sprinting away from the kitchen and to the front door. He pulled a pair of shoes on and dragged a windbreaker across his shoulders, aware that it would more than likely not be adequate in protecting him from the storm.

As he dashed down the single flight of stairs that led to the front door, he considered that he should have grabbed an umbrella. The pounding rain was much louder in the corridor, Castiel’s footsteps almost muted under the roar of the weather. His heart beat against his chest furiously as he reached the main entrance, pausing to glance out of the window before venturing into the street.

The avenue where Dean could usually be found during the day was a good twenty blocks away from Castiel’s apartment building, so Castiel nixed his mental image of being a hero and running through the rain to help his friend, pulling his key fob from the pocket of the sweatpants he was wearing. He wasn’t exactly sure when he had remembered to grab his keys but was glad that he didn’t have to waste time climbing the stairs again to go and get them.

Castiel’s hair was matted against his forehead with the rain by the time he reached his car, and he was sure he would regret getting his seats soaked at some point. As he put the Legacy into reverse and backed out of his parking spot, pulling his seatbelt across his chest, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would be met with an empty street when he reached the abandoned deli.

He hadn’t put too much faith in Dean’s ability to seek shelter, but maybe he had actually found some place to wait out the storm. Either way, Castiel was glad he was checking, knowing that he would have had a restless night if he had remained in his apartment.

The streets were practically deserted save for the occasional car speeding carefully down its lane. Weather like this wasn’t uncommon for the time of year, but the people in the town did not take storm warnings lightly, and Castiel assumed that most people were safe in their warm beds by now, though it was only just after 11 o’clock.

The windshield wipers moved furiously in Castiel’s line of vision, stray drops filtering down the glass before being caught by the blades. He followed the street that he had walked so many times with the Garrison group and signaled his turn at the deli.

Immediately Castiel noticed the dark mass sitting against the building. There was just enough of an over-hang to protect Dean’s head and torso, but even with his knees pressed against his chest his legs were exposed to the full wrath of the storm. Dean’s head was pressed against the fading bricks, eyes shut in an attempt to ignore the onslaught of rain and wind, focusing on anything but the water soaking into his clothes and chilling his bones.

Castiel pulled up to the left side of the curb, a very dangerous place if there were regular traffic, and barely had the mind to put it in park before swinging the driver’s door open. He stepped over the curb and hunched his back against the stinging rain as he stepped his way toward Dean, whose eyes had opened after Castiel had slammed the door closed.

“Cas?” Dean questioned in a husky voice, disbelief coloring the word. Castiel lifted his head to confirm that it was him. Dean stood as Castiel neared, eyes squinting in the darkness. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t leave you out in this rain,” Cas spoke as he reached Dean, “I’m here to take you back to my apartment.”

“Cas, go home. I can handle a little rain.” As if on cue, lightning streaked across the sky accompanied by a deafening thunder.

“Dean, you can stay on my couch at least until this storm passes.” Water streamed down Castiel’s face, spattering his clothing and pooling in his shoes. The sooner he got this man into his car and had the heater blasting, the better.

“Cas, I—I can’t, I—”

“You said you’d want to consider me a friend. Please, Dean, let me help you,” Castiel all but begged, needing this man to see reason. He caught Dean’s gaze and held it, pleading with his eyes as he watched the conflict pass over his face.

All Castiel’s senses faded as he gazed into Dean’s lash-fringed eyes, his soul reflected in his irises despite the lack of lighting on the street corner. Rain continued to assault Castiel’s neck and back, but the only discomfort he found was in the unmistakable insecurity in Dean’s expression. It pained Castiel’s chest in a way he wasn’t sure how to describe.

Dean averted his stare first, looking to the sidewalk and giving a nod. With the slightest smile, Castiel turned and stalked back towards his car, Dean hesitating for a moment before following. His feet splashed through the water that lingered on the concrete, and a mixture of dread and gratitude settled in his gut.

He tried not to consider the possibility that Cas would be expecting anything in return for the night out of the rain. Dean would never admit that he had considered selling some of his ‘better attributes’ in order to get back on his feet easier. It couldn’t be too bad, a few minutes in exchange for a couple hundred dollars if he played his cards right. And it was good that he got out of the storm, so maybe a little repayment was in store. Cas was attractive—worse things could’ve been in store.

No, Dean, you’re being ridiculous. Cas had said that they were friends, he just wanted to help Dean out of the rain. He wouldn’t be expecting anything, if he did he would’ve mentioned something.

Dean opened the passenger door and sat rigidly in the seat, his mind at war with itself. The raindrops on the car frame echoed in the car, a feeling of hollowness settling into the pit of Dean’s stomach. He felt Castiel’s eyes on him, but his muscles remained tense and he couldn’t find a way to relax them. Cas placed a hand on his arm, just under his shoulder, and Dean turned his head quickly to eye the man.

“If you really don’t want to come with me, I won’t force you to, Dean. But I do think it is preferable to being out in this weather. I don’t expect anything from you, Dean, I’m just trying to help in the best way I know how.” There was no doubt in Dean’s mind that Cas’ words were honest, the gravel in his voice finding a way to calm Dean’s nerves.

He trusted Cas, he really did. And maybe it wasn’t rational, but Dean couldn’t find himself caring.

“Thank you, Cas. I’m really grateful.” Dean gave an authentic smile and reached behind him for the seatbelt, buckling himself in as Cas put the car in drive.

The radio was off, but the pounding of the rain and the swish of the windshield wipers was a medley in itself—and much more enjoyable when it wasn’t soaking him through. Now that he was out of the onslaught, however, his clothes stuck to his skin and the car’s heater had little help against the chill it caused.

Dean didn’t know where Castiel called home, but after only a few minutes the car pulled into a parking space at the back of the lot in front of a small apartment building. They braced themselves for the rain, sharing a grin before rushing out of the car and across the lot. Dean somehow found himself laughing before he reached the main entrance, and when Cas caught up with him, he didn’t take long before joining in.

The giggles sobered out as they walked up the stairs, Dean following behind as he had no idea where he was heading. They reached a door on the second floor, Cas unlocked and pushed the door opening, gesturing for Dean to walk across the threshold before him.

Dean thought he would feel nervous about entering another person’s apartment, but it was almost the opposite. Dean felt an odd type of contentedness though he still stood awkwardly by the coffee table littered with textbooks. He didn’t exactly know where to go, especially since his clothes were soaked and he would hate to ruin any of the meager furnishings that decorated Castiel’s living room.

“I can give you a pair of sweats to put on, and there’s a washing machine in the back. Do you want to take a shower?” Cas asked, hands fidgeting as if embarrassed.

“Isn’t it dangerous to take a shower during a thunderstorm?”

“Mythbusters disproved that,” Cas replied in a monotone which Dean found hilarious.

“Okay,” Dean said reluctantly though he knew that he needed a shower more than he had most of his life, “well if you don’t mind, that would be awesome.”

“Of course,” Cas moved quickly a room behind the living room, followed by the sounds of drawers being filed through. Dean stayed where he stood, toeing off his shoes and socks but trying to minimize the amount of carpet he got wet. The apartment’s furniture was simple and mismatched like Cas had bought everything from different yard sales, and Dean couldn’t help but smile because it was so perfectly Cas.

Returning to the living room with a pair of sweat pants and a large t-shirt, Cas directed Dean to the bathroom. As he moved to go change, Dean tried not to drip on the carpet any more than he already had, knowing that the action was more than likely futile. He closed the door behind him, glimpsing Cas’ retreat back into his bedroom, probably to change into dry clothing himself.

Dean stripped his useless jacket off first, one that he had known would have no ability to repel the rain but had layered it on anyway, followed by the white undershirt that peeled from his skin with a heavy, wet sound. He folded his clothing into a towel hanging above the bathtub, unsure of where else would be appropriate. His jeans came next, weighing twice as much as when dry and rubbing awkwardly against his thighs as he wrestled them off.

He was standing mostly naked in a foreign bathroom, now, eyes running over his appearance in the mirror. He hadn’t been able to take time in examining his body since he left home and noticed that being down on his luck was obvious on his skin. His ribs protruded the barest amount, and his skin was a dull color from the grime that was ever-present on him.

Dean kept his shower quick since the thunderstorm still roared outside, but the hot water streaming over his sore back and limbs was practically orgasmic and made it so he never wanted to leave. The soft suds from Cas’ shampoo danced on his scalp in a way that was more than appreciated, and the bar of soap left his skin cleaner than it had been in a month.

He toweled off and reached for Cas’ clothes. A pair of underwear had not been included in the stack given to him, and he had no intention of putting his rain-soaked boxers from before on. He considered calling out for a pair, but decided on pulling the sweats on without underwear, as he had spent most of his high school years.

When he reentered the living room, Dean noticed that the TV had been turned onto some bad procedural cop show, and Cas was in pajamas and barreling through his cabinets. 

“I have Ramen, is that good?” Castiel asked cautiously, waving the orange packaging over his shoulder.

“Yeah, perfect,” Dean insisted. He sat on the brown sofa, entirely in view of the kitchen, observing as Cas put a pot of water on to boil and stood over the stove, impatiently. “A watched pot never boils, you know.” The amount of times Ellen had told him that (most often punctuated with the word boy) was incalculable, in Dean’s opinion.

Cas turned and looked at Dean with his eyebrow furrowed and his head tilted. “Yes, it will. As long as the heat remains constant, the water’s temperature will continue to rise until it reaches a boiling point. It’s ridiculous to imply that watching it will upset the process in some manner.”

Dean paused for a minute to contemplate the fact that Cas had never heard the idiom, before bursting into laughter at the argument against it. “Cas, it’s a phrase. If you watch the water it’ll feel like it takes longer than when you don’t watch it.”

Cas opened his mouth as he considered a protest, but he turned back to the stove without a word, causing Dean to laugh a bit more. The atmosphere was amiable in the small apartment, Dean sated from the hot shower and muscles relaxing into the couch. It had been so long since he had something besides the ground sleep on or brick to sleep against. The sofa wasn’t especially plush, but to Dean it could’ve been a cloud and he wouldn’t have known the difference.

He heard the pot begin to boil over the sound of the television, and the soft plunk! as Cas dropped the square mass of noodles into the water. Dean wasn’t sure if he’d ever been as content as he was at that moment, with his hearing fading out and his eyes drooping as he let all of his weight into the back of the sofa.

In the kitchen, Castiel was focused on cooking the ramen, using a fork to break the square into individual noodles and adding the flavoring to the water. He noticed Dean had gone quiet but assumed that he was merely focusing on the TV, late-night Law and Order reruns playing on the screen. Castiel was glad that Dean seemed comfortable in his apartment, especially since it looked like he was about to have a panic attack from just getting into Castiel’s car.

After transferring the noodles into two plastic bowls and finding two forks, he turned to the living room to eat while watching TV, as he tended to eat his meals. He noticed Dean slumped against the cushions, and as he walked closer he saw that the man’s eyes were closed and his mouth ajar with soft breathing.

It brought a small grin to Castiel’s face to see that his friend had fallen asleep without intending to though he was a bit concerned since he hadn’t been able to eat. It didn’t surprise Castiel that Dean had been tired, but he wished that he could’ve at least let him sleep on the pull-out aspect of the couch. Cas didn’t want to bother Dean now that he was resting, for he was afraid Dean wouldn’t be able to sleep again once he was woken, and Castiel didn’t think a soreness in the neck from sleeping against the couch would be as bad as not getting any sleep at all.

He put the bowls of ramen among his textbooks on the coffee table and strode to his closet, where he kept his extra linens and blankets. Castiel lay an old quilt that he brought with him from his home when he moved to go to college across Dean’s sleeping form and a thin pillow at the edge of Dean’s shoulder, pressing a thin kiss to the top of Dean’s head before he realized what he was doing. Castiel then sat on the arm of the couch and drank down his noodles quickly, partially following the storyline of the television show and partially listening to Dean’s smooth breaths.

The noodles sitting warmly in Castiel’s stomach sent him to his bedroom to sleep after turning off the TV and the lights in the apartment. He left Dean’s untouched bowl in the microwave, resolving to eat it himself the next night if he was hungry. Suddenly, Castiel’s mind flitted to what Dean would be doing the next night, and if he were being honest with himself Cas would admit that he didn’t want Dean anywhere but safe in his living room.

Closing his bedroom door behind him, Castiel grabbed for his cell phone despite the late time and scrolled through his contacts. He wasn’t sure that Dean would be too happy about the plan that was forming in Castiel’s mind, and Cas would back off the second Dean told him to (if he told him to), but he needed to at least find out the likelihood of helping Dean in a much more personal way than by just letting him spend a night in his apartment.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean woke with unfamiliar sunlight flitting through unfamiliar window blinds, a slight pain in his shoulders and thin fabric wrapped around his arms. He was fully awake in seconds, his eyes shot open and his heart rate raising with fear of his situation. As he sat up and threw the quilt from his shoulders, the previous night rushed back into his mind.

Cas had come and gotten him in the rain and Dean had fallen asleep on his couch.

The reminder that Dean was safe eased his muscles and ended his minor freak-out. He was extremely thankful that he hadn’t woken up with water etched into his being, considering he could still hear a light rain dripping onto the window. It was supposed to pick up again that night, so Dean savored the feeling of the worn quilt and rough cushions, as he would not be staying again.

A quick glance around the apartment revealed that, though it the sun was at a fair level in the sky, Cas’ bedroom door remained closed as if he hadn’t yet woken up. Dean smiled, not pegging his friend to be a late sleeper, and pushed himself into a standing position. He carefully folded the quilt, examining the subpar stitching and knowing that it had to have been handmade by someone who was enthusiastic but not skilled, and placed it against the arm of the couch with the pillow he had awoken with.

Dean tiptoed to the bathroom, not wanting to wake his friend after the long night he’d probably had after coming to retrieve Dean. There he noticed a toothbrush and razor, both still in the package, laying precariously on the edge of the sink. The ones he typically used were tucked away into one of the many pockets in his jacket, but he was glad for the offer of new ones.

He pulled the packaging off of the toothbrush first, his mouth feeling cottony and having a bad case of morning breath. A small shelf sat above the faucet, holding a tube of toothpaste, some aftershave, and a few stray (unused) cotton swabs. Investigating the toothpaste, Dean let a grin envelope his face when he saw that it was cinnamon flavored.

“Cas, you disgusting bastard,” he joked under his breath, squeezing the light red gel onto his toothbrush despite the fact. Even the bold flavor was welcome against Dean’s morning breath, and he had to admit that the cinnamon did leave his teeth feeling thoroughly cleaned (though he would continue to mock Cas for having it, since he couldn’t relent that easily).

Dean shaved and did the rest of his business in the bathroom before he realized that he had left his clothes in the bathroom the previous night. He cold and soggy clothing were still bundled in a used towel and Dean took them to the general direction Cas had given him the night before of the washing machine. He thought he heard shuffling coming from Cas’ room when he passed it but didn’t want to intrude on the man who had given him so much help.

He used marginally less detergent than necessary, knowing that the shit was expensive and not wanting to inconvenience Cas. When Dean returned to the main room of the apartment, he noticed that Castiel was impatiently filling a coffee filter with grounds and shoving the tray into the coffee maker, looking dead-on-his-feet but still with a smile as he met Dean’s eyes.

“Hello, Dean, did you sleep well?” he asked in a sleep-addled voice, rougher than even his usual.

“Oh yeah, I mean my shoulders are a little sore from sleeping against them like I did, but thanks a lot for letting me sleep here a night.”

Cas’ smirk didn’t falter as he said, “Well if you had stayed awake a bit longer, maybe ate something, I could’ve shown you that the couch has a pull-out mattress.”

“That would’ve been nice,” Dean spoke in an undertone, rubbing his shoulder liberally. He knew that the soreness would disappear by the end of the day, but he enjoyed the mild banter that filled the kitchen as he leaned against the counter that separated it from the living room. Cas offered a bowl of cereal and watched with wide eyes as Dean dumped a half cup of sugar onto his cornflakes.

They sat on the couch, Cas already having downed a mug of coffee and milking his second when he asked, “Dean, may I be forward with you?” in a meek voice while looking anywhere but the man’s eyes.

“Uh, sure, Cas,” Dean responded, preparing himself for the words to come. This was where Cas asked him to leave, after returning the sweats and putting away anything he’d touched. They’d probably see each other soon, Cas volunteering for his church and Dean back on his corner by the old deli, never mentioning this night where they slept under the same roof.

“I—I’m not sure how I want to word this…”

“Listen, Cas, if you want me to leave you don’t have to feel broken up about it. Just let my stuff finish in the wash and I’ll be out of your hair. I was needing to do some stuff today anyway so you don’t have to—”

“No, Dean, I wasn’t going to ask you to leave,” Cas looked minutely horrorstruck, “in fact it’s quite the opposite. I wanted to offer for you to become my roommate.”

Dean was momentarily taken aback, Cas having continued speaking with Dean hardly grasping the “Don’t feel pressured to do anything” and the “I understand if this isn’t something you are comfortable with” and especially the “You wouldn’t have the most privacy but I can’t imagine sending you back to the streets if I have a perfectly good mattress that I’d appreciate you sleeping on.”

“Cas, no, I really couldn’t do that. I won’t let myself be a burden.” Dean knew Castiel’s heart was large, but this was entirely too much.

“I can assure you, Dean, you won’t be in the least bit.” Dean didn’t understand how serious Cas could be during that sentence, being fully aware of Dean’s financial state.

“I don’t even have a job or any way of helping you pay rent—”

“Actually, um, I may have found a way to ensure that you can. If,” Cas quickly amended, “you want to.”

“Wait,” Dean’s mind was swimming with this conversation and his cornflakes sat forgotten in his lap. A subconscious inquiry revealed that Cas’ had as well. “What are you saying?”

“It’s just, my brother owns his own business and he always complaining that has students applying but there’s never anyone who can work during school hours so I thought I’d see if he still needed someone so I called him last night after you went to bed and he said he’d really appreciate another hand,” Cas rambled, his eyes flitting over the floor and hands clenching his pajama pants, as if he was a small child explaining something he knew he’d be punished for.

“Cas, are you saying you might’ve found me a job?” Dean asked, unbelieving, his eyes shining with joy. This was exactly what he needed! The Career Connection Center had never had anything available but if he could just work and save up some money he would be exactly where he wanted. And if he had a place to stay and someone to share the rent with while it was happening, which was one less problem he needed to face.

“Yeah?” Cas breathed, tentatively. Dean was close to tears with how grateful he was, he could practically kiss the man in front of him. Instead of that, he put his sodden cereal aside and wrapped his arms around Cas, a bit awkwardly with their legs crossed between them. Cas didn’t react for a moment, probably afraid that he’d done something wrong, but after a beat his hands reached up to place themselves on Dean’s shoulders and he leaned into the hug.

“Thank you so much,” Dean spoke into the air behind Cas’ head, not wanting to let go of what was, in his opinion, the best hug was he’d ever given or received. He had his arms fully enveloping Cas’ body, his hands resting on the edge of the man’s ribcage and a heartbeat fluttering faintly near the skin at Dean’s fingertips. Cas’ breath ghosted over his neck and shoulder, chest offering more heat than even Dean’s brother, Sam, could offer on a good day.

Cas’ fingers twitched on Dean’s shoulder blades, which he assumed was a signal that the hug should end, and he pulled away slowly, still reveling in Castiel’s warmth. “Is—is that a yes?” Cas’ voice was a bit stronger, but a hint of diffidence shone behind his words.

“Yeah,” Dean laughed, emotions he couldn’t name making his body feel as though he was breathing helium instead of oxygen. “Thanks, this means more to me than you know.”

Cas gleamed, compassionate eyes speaking words that had no English translation. He moved away to reach for his coffee mug, which lay cooling on the table in front of the couch. The emotional moment had passed, and now the two were both sated with the implications of the words that had been spoken.

“So, what kind of business does your brother have? You haven’t signed me up to be a male model or a porn star, right?” Dean joked, but Cas’ eyes darkened fractionally.

“Knowing Gabriel, I would not be surprised if that were the case.”

· · ·

Dean had not, thankfully, been signed up to do porn, as far as he could tell. When his clothes were dry and he looked presentable, Cas had given Dean a ride downtown to a multicolored brick building in a high-end strip mall between an e-cigarette store and a PetSmart. Trickster’s Gourmet Confections smelled of warm caramel and was laid out like a coffee shop turned into the candy store of every kid’s daydreams.

A bell above the door sounded as Dean entered, Castiel close behind, and a girl with short red hair behind the counter smiled a welcome. “Cas! You finally decided to visit me at work! How long have I been begging you to help me with dealing with my boss?” Dean noticed that Cas’ face lit up after seeing her, a gummy smile stretching his face.

“Charlie, this is Dean. He’s soon to be my new roommate.” Something unspoken passed between the woman, Charlie, and Cas, as Dean pretended to inspect the different types of truffles for sale on a display. Now that he thought about it, Dean was sure he’d seen Charlie volunteering with the Garrison Church group before, and he tried to stifle the embarrassment that was threatening to color his face.

He wasn’t ashamed of being homeless, or at least he didn’t want to be. Most people probably wouldn’t recognize him from being on the street, but he figured that he shouldn’t feel humiliated when someone did. Dean was overcoming his situation and he was proud of himself.

Only a beat had passed when an enthusiastic Charlie exclaimed, “Heya, Dean! Name’s Charlie. I’ve known this nerd over here since we were both in high school,” she thumbed towards Cas, who was gazing into an open display filled with different types of fudge.

“What’s Gabe’s limit on a number of fudge samples a person can get?” Cas questioned.

“For you?” an energetic voice called from the back of the store. “One. But the dreamboat over there can get as many as he wants.”

“Gabriel!” Cas warned, glancing towards Dean who was trying to hide his flushed face. A vibrant laugh rang out, closer now to the main counter as a man with honey-blond hair appeared at the counter. He was a bit taller than Charlie but still seemed relatively short in comparison to Cas.

“I’m just joking, baby bro, I know you’ve already called dibs and I am a man who respects that.” Cas blanched, his mouth half open while Gabriel and Charlie both burst into laughter. Even Dean, who was ignoring the insinuation, felt a giggle bubble in his chest at Castiel’s reaction. Before Cas could retort anything, Gabriel reached under the counter for a light colored chunk of fudge and pressed it into his brother’s gaping mouth.

Cas narrowed his eyes at Gabe before chewing slowly, obviously trying not to show on his face the approval he had for the fudge. Dean was instantly jealous of Cas, wanting a sample of fudge himself, but feeling like an outsider in the interaction taking place between the three at the counter. They all had known each other for years, and despite the banter, Dean could tell that Cas and his brother got along swimmingly.

“Dean-o! You gonna stand there like a creep or come over here and get a load of something sweet?” Gabriel called, gesturing towards the huge display case next to the counter and wiggling his eyebrows, suggestively. Dean let a grin twist his lips as he paced over carefully, wanting to make a good impression on this man who was, according to Cas, considering offering him a job.

“What’s your poison?” Gabriel asked, Dean eyeing the fudge rack, which had at least a hundred varieties, all labeled in cutesy handwriting on little cards. One, sitting conspicuously at one side of the shelf, caught Dean’s eye immediately.

“You’re joking, right?” Dean exclaimed, earning him a raised eyebrow from Gabe. “You literally have an apple pie fudge?”

“Yep!” Gabriel beamed, “little recipe I invented a couple of months back.” It was obvious that he took pride in his work, and it made Dean happy to see that Gabe was here for more than just making innuendos. “You want to try a square?”

“Hell yeah, I do!” So maybe Dean was just a bit too excited to see a fudge inspired after one of his favorite pie flavors, but he’d never even heard of it before and knew that he had to have some. As Gabriel picked a small chunk from the display and placed it on a napkin, Cas and Charlie had turned away from the two to have their own conversation about something that Dean couldn’t care less about as he anticipated the apple pie fudge.

Gabriel’s eyes shone expectantly as Dean inspected the cream-colored square, noting the irregularity of the fudge consistency and finding it entirely appealing. He plopped the cube into his mouth, his eyes shooting wide open as he took the first bite and slowly closing as he continued to savor the best thing he’d probably ever had in his mouth.

Castiel had not been paying attention to Gabriel and Dean’s exchange, but when a lustful moan permeated the room he stopped talking mid-sentence to see what was happening. Dean’s head was thrown back, enticingly, his neck bared and just begging to be explored. His eyelashes fanned across the tips of his cheeks, and his face twisted with absurd pleasure.

Quickly averting his eyes back to his red-headed friend, Castiel coughed to cover up the hole left in their conversation about Castiel’s latest public speaking assignment. He forcefully ignored the fact that his jeans had instantly become just a fraction too tight at watching Dean’s reaction to Gabriel’s cooking, and refused to acknowledge the part of Castiel’s mind that knew he could cause Dean to make a lot more ludicrous sounds and faces with his own ministrations.

Charlie, of course, noticed that Castiel had been distracted by the man who he had brought in the shop with him, but hopefully not the full extent of that disruption. She raised her eyebrows and gave a cat-like smirk as Cas completely disregarded the pause he had given.

Meanwhile, Dean was in heaven. There were miniscule chunks of apple in the fudge, which caused the appearance of irregularity, Dean assumed, that danced across his tongue in a way he could never tire of. His only complaint was that it was gone much too quickly.

“Okay, how do I buy, like, fourteen pounds of that stuff?” Dean asked, trying to sound as serious as he possibly could.

“Good?” Gabriel enquired, modestly, an air of absolute interest framing the man. Dean doubted he never received praise for work this good, but he figured one could never accept too many kind words.

“Dude, it may be blasphemous to say, but this is probably better than real pie.”

Gabriel’s face lit up and he reached his hand out over the counter. “Gabriel Novak.”

“Dean Winchester,” he responded as he shook the man’s hand.

“Well, anyone who’s willing to sweet-talk me that much definitely deserves to be hired,” Gabriel declared, “but I still need you to fill out one of the applications. It’s mostly a formality—you’ve as good as got the job, my friend.”

“Why’s that?” Dean couldn’t help but wonder. He was ecstatic that he was being promised work, but it still struck him as suspicious that Gabe wouldn’t want to give him a background check or anything first.

Gabriel dropped his voice, eyeing Cas to be sure that he wasn’t eavesdropping. “Any guy that my brother is willing to put up with me for has got to be taken very seriously.”

“We aren’t, you know, together or anything,” Dean told him, not wanting to be hired under false pretenses.

“Yeah, I know,” Gabe assured him, “but even so, you’ve got to be pretty important for Cas to call me up at 12:30 on a weeknight. Kid’s always had a hard time with people, and if he’s decided that you’re worthy of his friendship, I’m not gonna try and stand in his way.”

Dean couldn’t help but wonder if Gabriel’s words were secretly telling him not to take advantage of Castiel’s kindness. The guy played an endearing older brother well, Dean could tell, since he’d spent his whole life perfecting the role. The way that Cas and Gabe interacted was strikingly similar to how Dean acted around Sam, and a pang of sorrow passed through him as he remembered the last conversation that he’d had with his brother, before quickly burying it deep once again.

Gabriel’s use of the word ‘worthy’ made Dean’s skin crawl since he’d never honestly felt as if he were ‘worthy’ of anything. There was no question that Gabe knew that before last night Dean hadn’t had a place to call home in a month. He couldn’t sense any uncertainty coming from the man, but it would make sense to doubt the worth of a homeless 21-year-old, so Dean couldn’t get a good read on where Gabriel stood.

It was obvious, though, that Gabriel cared a great deal about his younger brother. Offering someone a job merely because Cas asked him too was no small act.

The door to the shop opened once again, a young girl and her mother entered. The girl bounced around the displays, excitedly, brown pigtails flipping around as she admired the different types of chocolates and candies. Dean hadn’t noticed just how large the shop was, it extended far beyond the counter and a winding staircase lead to a loft decorated with tables and chairs.

Gabriel had ducked under the counter to retrieve a paper form, handing it to Dean with a logoed pen. The form was only two pieces of paper stapled together, and Gabe instructed Dean to just fill out what he could. Dean turned away from the counter to see Cas’ eyes on him, gesturing towards the loft. They made their way across the room and up the staircase, settling in at a table with a view of the entire shop.

The walls of the loft were egg-shell blue while the lower floor of the shop was wood paneling and up here paintings, photographs, even kids drawings filled the walls and created a sociable atmosphere. Dean wasn’t partial to coffee shops, but Gabriel’s was something he wouldn’t mind getting used to. This place was loved and a lot of work must have gone into selecting furniture that mismatched in a way that worked flawlessly. A man sat in the corner with a battered laptop, typing furiously as his sunken eyes flashed across the screen to admire his work.

A genuine smile spread across Dean’s face as he set to filling in his full name and his date-of-birth, Castiel’s face quickly mirroring it. He felt like he was finally doing something that would help long term, and it had a warmth spreading through his being. Castiel didn’t care that he had a quiz in his Computer Introductory Skills class in three days and he had yet to even crack open his textbook to the right chapter.

“Cas, I still cannot believe that you’re taking this risk for me,” Dean smiled at him, pen paused on the page.

“I see no particular risk in helping a friend, Dean,” Castiel responded with his eyebrows furrowed. This was important to him, and he didn’t think anything bad could happen where Dean was concerned. Dean was anything but bad, even if his (previous) situation suggested otherwise, Castiel could tell.

Dean just shook his head lightly and continued to fill out the application Gabriel had given him, happiness faltering on his face but not disappearing entirely. Castiel didn’t understand what risks Dean could be talking about, and he wanted to press the issue but felt that it could wait. He wouldn’t force Dean to share anything with him, especially about the past that he didn’t seem keen on revealing.

· · ·

After Gabriel had shown Dean around and given him an idea of what his job would entail—with far too many innuendos as far as Castiel was concerned—they drove back home. Dean didn’t want to consider Cas’ place home, but hadn’t he written that as his address on Gabe’s application? It was still so weird, how everything had changed in a night without him even being aware of it.

Part of Dean wanted to resent Cas for the charity he was giving, the same part that had refused to talk to Ellen and Bobby about being kicked out of his dad’s house. Dean knew he could never resent Cas, however, and he couldn’t find a way to get that part of his mind to stay quiet. It wasn’t charity, it was friendship; Cas had made that perfectly clear.

They had gotten back to the apartment just after four o’clock, and Cas had immediately curled down on the couch with one of his textbooks. He muttered something apologetic about an exam he hadn’t been studying for, but Dean needed no explanation—if Cas needed quiet time for his studies, Dean would in no way be a distraction.

With that in mind, Dean’s nerves soon skyrocketed, feeling like his simple presence could be horribly ruining Cas’ chance for remembering whatever he needed to for the test. Cas was used to a quiet place to study, and Dean was afraid to make a sound by shifting on the sofa, let alone turn the TV on, despite Castiel insisting that it wouldn’t bother him.

Dean’s father had not liked a great deal of noise in his household after his wife had passed. A person walking in the hallway too loudly had been enough to start a yelling match in more than one case, especially since Sam had been so keen on not wanting to live under John’s totalitarian system. Dean had no issue with the rules since that was what his dad expected and it just made sense to follow them.

Even though he never particularly liked the suffocating quiet that the house tended to be, Dean got used to it. When his mother was still alive, Dean could remember the house always being filled with music or loud television or even birds chattering outside open windows. When he remembered being young, the sounds were just as colorful as the images.

Too soon, Mary was gone. Advanced stage breast cancer, they hadn’t caught it in time and she never stood a chance. She fought up until her last breath, and Dean would admire no one as much as he had his mother in those final days. He was ten when her battle had ended, and Sammy had turned six only months earlier.

They never talked about her after she was gone, and Dean didn’t know if Sammy remembered just how amazing his mother was. It plagued him, the fact that he had years more memories of her and never shared them. Of course, John had made it obvious that he would never tolerate hearing her name again. He drank himself into a stupor whenever he thought of Mary, and Dean never looked forward to those nights. Still, Dean knew that his father had always done the best he could. When he couldn’t keep a job he’d seek out financial assistance so they could all be fed, and when one of his sons wore holes in their shoes, money somehow appeared and was followed by a brand new pair. He was a good father, if not orthodox, and Dean hated to imagine the amount of pain that plagued the man for the last eleven years.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Dean carefully rose from the couch, trying to make as little noise or movement as possible, and tiptoed to the bookshelf that Cas had stood next to the linen closet. Of course, all the Harry Potter books were arranged in the correct order on the first shelf and in the second row sat a few classics, Orwell and Dante, but as Dean read the titles downward the novels became more and more obscure. Some of the titles were in languages that Dean couldn’t decipher, and he wondered if Cas could actually read any of them.

Returning to the top shelves, Dean found himself holding the Sorcerer’s Stone, which he’d never had the opportunity to return to the library for. A chuckle formed in the back of his throat at the reminder of Castiel’s enthusiasm for the books, and he turned back towards the couch. Dean took his time sitting down, willing the springs not to sound and examining Cas’ face for irritation at the noise that came anyways.

Dean found the point he’d ended at and flipped through a few pages easily before realizing he hadn’t actually taken in any of the words he’d read. He felt like his entire body was buzzing with some odd electricity, and his foot bounced against the ground without consulting his conscious mind. He felt like an intruder in this apartment, as if he didn’t belong and needed to be anywhere but on that sofa. The street corner was never this quiet.

“Dean,” Cas started in a voice that sounded both concerned and foreboding to Dean’s ears. “What’s wrong?” Turning his head in Cas’ direction, Dean saw that he hadn’t looked up from his textbook, merely paused his eyes on the page.

“Nothing. I just—nothing.” Dean responded, not sure what he would’ve said but sure it was going to be a lie.

“You don’t have to sit there and be silent, Dean. This is your house. o whatever the fuck you want to,” Cas spoke in a dead tone, his use of language shocking Dean for a moment. In fact, he could feel the tips of his ears burning, the profanity he was used to sounding especially lewd coming from the blue-eyed man at the other end of the couch.

It was somehow both intimidating and endearing for Cas to curse, and Dean quickly distracted himself with the remote before he lingered on the fact that he was finding Castiel endearing.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean fell into a routine much too easily, and he found himself honestly enjoying it. He worked at Trickster’s full-time and almost cried when he cashed his first paycheck of just over three hundred dollars. First, he gave Cas a portion for the rent, and then he took the initiative to stock the pantry and fridge with more than ramen and milk. It felt great to be able to contribute to the household with something more substantial than his presence.

He figured he probably needed to buy some more clothes at some point since all he really had was a couple of outfits besides what he consistently borrowed from Cas and his work uniform. Dean would wait for a while before making big purchases for himself though, wanting to be sure he could truly show Cas that he was grateful and not going to exploit his kindness.

It turned out Dean appreciated having a roommate—spending evenings and random parts of the day together reminded Dean of the companionship he and his brother had had when they were younger. He tried not to compare Sam and Cas, though, since he didn’t only want to think of Cas as a replacement for his brother, which he most certainly was not.

Cas was amazing, far more than Dean had already been able to tell from the time that they had tentatively gotten to know each while he was living on the street. Cas’ class load was steadily building and he was barely fazed by the amount of work he was putting in each night. He still volunteered for his church most nights a week, though Dean wanted to believe that he was taking off every now and then since the person he’d looked forward to seeing on the volunteering escapades was now sleeping on his pull-out couch.

On the most afternoons when Cas was contributing to society, Dean would usually be home to cook, which he’d always been in charge of when he was living with his family. The kitchen was truly tiny, but it was functional and Cas always appreciated whatever Dean put on a paper plate for him.

Gabriel had a good number of people employed at Trickster’s, but a lot were, as Cas had said, college students only available to work in the afternoon. This meant that Dean was almost guaranteed morning shifts, which he didn’t mind at all, since it linked up greatly with Cas’ class schedule, making the entire arrangement so much better.

Dean’s shift started less than an hour before Cas’ earliest classes, so he would drop Dean off and then come inside for some brotherly banter or a chat with an employee that he knew from one place or another. If his schedule permitted it, and it usually did once or twice a week, Cas would grab something for their lunch and eat it with Dean on his break. The loft would typically have a few regular patrons taking advantage of the free internet and amazing baked goods, but there was always a table open for Dean and Cas to share.

Those days were the best. Dean was mostly working the register and handling the display cases and in the mornings an abundance of people walked in looking for their breakfast. Gabriel’s cinnamon rolls and Danishes were legendary and on weekdays there was a decent sized crowd from the time Dean punched in until his lunch break.

The first time that Cas had shown up on his break, Dean had noticed him but was too busy with giving different sweets to customers to acknowledge it with anything more than a smile and a nod in his direction. He could tell that Cas was nervous about something, the way he played with his fingernails and ran his eyes over the displays too-quickly. They hadn’t discussed anything, but Dean didn’t think it was weird for Cas to show up if he didn’t have class.

The chaos slowed long enough for Dean to clock out for his break and he nodded to Gabriel where he sat doing paperwork in his office. Gabe was a great boss, more caring than his mischievous façade would let on towards both his business and his employees. Dean untied and folded the tan apron that he wore with his uniform and placed it under the counter. The apron was mostly useless for Dean since he didn’t work in the kitchen often, but it was a great place to store complimentary toffees or peppermints for consuming throughout his shift.

Dean approached Cas with eagerness and a wide smile where the man stood just off to the side of the fudge display. “Heya Cas, what’re you doing here?” Dean was nothing but ecstatic at his friend’s appearance, but it was a little unusual.

“I was hoping you’d partake in lunch with me,” Cas fidgeted a little where he stood, and Dean could tell he’d been practicing his words for a few minutes if not his entire drive to Gabriel’s. He formed his question like it was an absolute possibility that Dean would say no, and the risk of that happening was zero as long as it was Cas asking.

“Of course, that sounds great.” Cas grinned and gestured towards the main entrance. There was a sub shop a block away from Trickster’s and they both turned toward it with purpose. As they walked, their hands continuously brushed against each other, and while Dean’s face heated up he had no resolve to lengthen the distance between them. He really wanted to sidestep the tentative brushing all together and grasp Cas’ hand within his own, to encase the smooth flesh he’d eyed too many times within his calloused fingers.

It would’ve been so easy, but Dean didn’t know how comfortable Cas would be with that. They were friends and nothing more, Cas would most definitely be weirded out. And how would Dean defend himself? Say it was platonic hand holding? Even if that weren’t ridiculous and Cas bought it, how would they go on from there? What if Cas wanted to platonically hold Dean’s hand and they traveled everywhere hand-in-hand from then on like first graders? That would be amazing, Dean’s subconscious supplied him, but he ordered his sandwich like he hadn’t heard it.

· · ·

Cas would generally have to be lured out of bed in the mornings with promises of coffee and a bowl of Cocoa Pebbles, a scowl etched into his face for at least a half hour after finally leaving his room. The first few days it had happened, Dean had feared that his roommate wasn’t getting enough sleep, but it soon became apparent that no matter how many hours of rest Castiel got, his morning grouchiness was inevitable.

It took less than a week for Dean to evolve from worried about Cas in the morning to looking forward to it. His hair was always sticking up in odd tufts around his head and his eyelids would have a puffiness to them that would be expected of someone who had been unwillingly awoken. Dean would say that it was cute, if Dean Winchester were the type of guy to call other guys cute.

He’d never been one to judge the genitals of his hookups in the past, but Dean hadn’t ever had an honest relationship with a guy, or really anyone for that matter. There were a few girls who he’d hooked up with on a more exclusive basis than others, saw more than one movie with, but he didn’t have girlfriends—or boyfriends since he was on that subject.

Of course, Dean wasn’t interested in Cas, it was all just the work of a sex-depraved mind and an aesthetically pleasing friend.

It was on a day off that Dean became fully aware of how fucked his situation was. Cas had just left for a class and Dean lounged across the mattress he hadn't yet bothered to push back into the couch, flipping through the TV guide halfheartedly. He landed on a rerun of Dr. Sexy M.D., which was a guilty pleasure he hadn’t been able to indulge in for months.

Dean had seen the episode a time or two before, not too memorable but easy for him to follow having tuned in halfway through it. One of the nurses’ friends had been in a horrible accident, but Dr. Sexy had been able to revive her and the nurse had been grateful enough to give the doc a thank-you present in one of the broom closets. The nurse was, by the way, as loud as she was thorough, and there was an abundance of other hospital staff and even patients who could hear the gift being received throughout the hospital.

This lead Dean to realize that he hadn’t cleaned his pipes in forever, and it hadn’t even occurred to him lately. Back when he was on the streets it made sense, as he had no place for privacy and no motivation to (being homeless and starving was a cock-block from even his hand, it seemed), but now that he was sharing an apartment, he should’ve gotten back into his regular masturbatory habits weeks ago.

Of course, the opportunity was presenting itself now, right?

Dean’s heart rate picked up as he placed his hands on his stomach and closed his eyes. He pictured a faceless woman with long, blonde ringlets that tickled his face as she leaned above him. She would slowly snake her hands under his t-shirt, cataloging the muscle and slight pudge before her hands ran carefully north. Dean followed her actions with his own hands, the barely-there touch tickling against his most sensitive spots.

When the pads of his fingers reached his nipples, Dean let his mouth fall open in silent pleasure. It wasn’t as good as when another person were pressing slow circles against them, but it sent a low wave of electricity down his body. Dean imagined that his partner’s thigh occupied the space between his legs, tantalizingly unmoving despite his efforts to rock against it. He rubbed his clothed thighs together minutely, seeking out the little friction it provided to his hardening cock.

Dean relented his efforts on his nipples, the buds pink and firm, and placed a hand lightly over the tent in his sweatpants, palming downward fractionally. It was nowhere near enough, but after having gone so long without touching himself, Dean wanted to drag it out as long as he could. He ran his hand over his erection through two layers of clothing, reaching down to press against his sack, panting softly.

He thumbed at his waistband with his other hand before pushing under both his sweats and his boxers to loosely wrap around his shaft. Dean flicked his wrist a couple of times, quiet mewls falling from his outstretched lips and shoulders squirming against the mattress. The position was awkward with the elastic in his sweatpants chafing against his wrist with each movement, but the bliss sparking across Dean’s eyelids was all he could focus on at the moment.

Suddenly, a thought formed through the fog in his brain. Cas was notorious for forgetting his textbook in the apartment, what would happen if today was one of those days? How would Cas react to coming home and walking in on Dean with his hand in his pants and face contorted in pleasure? It was so wrong, but the thought of Cas just being in the same room as Dean while he jerked off sent an unanticipated moan flying from his lips.

Dean’s hand sped on his cock, images of soul-piercing blue eyes and chapped lips coursing through his mind. Cas pressing him into the mattress, peppering his skin with kisses and shallow bites, batting Dean’s hand away from his crotch and replacing it with his own, setting an unforgiving rhythm that would have high-pitched moans and shouted profanities flooding the room.

Inching his way down Dean’s body, Cas would take him into mouth expertly—no, Cas would be awkward but determined fumbling and an untrained gag reflex. In Dean’s mind, Cas would focus on the crown of his dick, mouth a slick inferno that would push him over the edge with a cry of warning. And then he’d come up and kiss Dean sweetly, licking past his lips with the taste of his own come and the faintest hint of cinnamon toothpaste.

This fantasy repeated itself as Dean continued to pump his erection, precome leaking and pressure forming at the base of his stomach. He threw his head back against the mattress as he reached down with his other hand to massage his balls and stroke his perineum, knowing that he was on the cusp of release and feeling desperate for it. Dean’s toes curled and back bowed slightly as he came, a name on his lips that should’ve been far from them considering the act he was performing.

As he lazily jacked his spent cock in the aftermath of his orgasm, he relished the electric hum filling his veins and the absolute emptiness of his mind. If there were a single thing in this world that Dean Winchester did not want to think about, it was the fact that he had just got off to the image of his best friend. Cas had helped him so much and this was how he repaid him?

Dean let his head fall onto the mattress, an audible “fuck” escaping his lips. Because he was, in more ways than one, fucked.

· · ·

Charlie Bradbury was, to say the least, freaking awesome.

She wasn’t a college student like Dean had expected—in fact, she was a high school dropout with little interest in returning to her studies. It actually meant nothing that she didn’t have a diploma considering she was a certifiable genius. Dean wouldn’t want to undermine his brother’s intellect, but Charlie may just be smarter than even Sam.

Charlie worked mornings most days of the week before going to a second job that she kept a secret. Dean was sure that she was being paid to hack NASA or she was an agent in the CIA, but no matter what he suggested, Charlie would neither deny nor confirm.

“C’mon, Charlie, if you won’t tell me anything then how do I know you aren’t working as a stripper or something?” Dean had tried to coerce her one day. She’d merely smirked and then changed the subject to the dwindling amount of strawberry fudge squares in the display case.

The most awesome thing about her, in Dean’s opinion, was much they had in common. They’d argued Star Wars vs. Star Trek for almost an entire week, would talk video games when work was slow, and both adamantly avoided speaking of their families. Charlie knew about Dean’s previous situation since she was one of the Garrison volunteers, but she didn’t bring it up and she didn’t allow it to cause a presumption.

They also both had Cas in common. When they were both working and Cas was in class or somewhere far away from Trickster’s, Dean and Charlie would talk about their friend in endearing tones. Dean would snicker about Cas’ inability to cook or how easily he could get sucked into a trashy movie, never saying anything with contempt or malice.

One day when Cas had visited Dean at break, Dean had returned to work with a huge smile engulfing his features. Cas hadn’t had a class that day, and he still chose to visit Dean at work when he could’ve very well been lounging around at home or doing literally anything else. It made Dean so happy, for reasons he wasn’t sure how to explain, but he was thankful to no ends that he’d found a friend in Castiel.

He heard a small laugh behind him as he bid a customer a great day, a flash of red entering Dean’s peripheral vision. “What?” He feigned irritation as he turned to Charlie, who was setting out more samples of fresh caramels. Another astounding thing about the coworker was her skills in making caramels and toffees. Dean didn’t consider how much weight he would gain working in a glorified candy shop, but he couldn’t find himself caring when it tasted as great as it did.

“Nothing. Just that you and Cas are really fantastic together,” Charlie shrugged, not meeting Dean’s eyes as she squatted to arrange the display. Dean’s smile faltered a little, knowing the conversation that was about to transpire would be one he’d been trying to avoid.

“You know we’re just friends, Charlie,” he sighed.

“I know both of you are so sure of that, but anyone with eyes can tell that you’re lying to yourselves and everyone else.” Before Dean could break in and tell Charlie to drop it, she continued, “You make each other so happy, Dean, I wish you could get your head out of your ass and realize it isn’t exactly platonic.”

Charlie turned and strode to the back of the store where she had been reorganizing a display, leaving Dean speechless. Charlie didn’t exactly sound upset or angry, just a bit passive, as if she expected her words to have no effect but still chose to speak them. It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t been crossing his mind more and more often as of late, since it’d been over a month since he had moved in with Cas. Dean liked the relationship that he had built with the man, but he’d be lying if he hadn’t considered striving for something more.

Of course, there was the issue with Dean suddenly thinking of his best friend while he jerking off, but it was more than that. When he lay in his bed at night, Dean couldn’t help but imagining the blue-eyed man in the next room curled up in his arms and sleeping softly, pressing against each other in the most comforting way. In the mornings when Cas emerged from his room grumpily, Dean wanted to press a kiss to his forehead and murmur sweet nothings in his ear to see a sleepy smile on the man’s lips. Some days when Cas was studying especially hard, Dean had to fight the urge to give him a short shoulder-rub and remind him that he’s getting top marks and will continue to do so. They’d watch movies on the couch sometimes, and Dean honestly wanted nothing more than for Cas to wrap his arms around his shoulder and pull him close to his chest for the remainder of the film.

Ugh, Dean Winchester was being such a girl.

He turned back to the register as an older woman strode up to buy a large jar of peppermints, acting as though his mind wasn’t racing with all the disgustingly romantic thoughts he’d ever repressed about his roommate that he knew he’d never be able to act on.


	6. Chapter 6

The Halloween season arrived and with it a huge influx of customers, leaving Gabriel delighted. However, though Dean’s boss definitely loved the ‘treat’ aspect of Halloween, it was the tricks that really overjoyed him. Gabe had decorated the entire shop overnight halfway through October with black cats and crows, a skeleton in the corner of the loft and cauldrons of dry ice next to some of the displays. Not only that, but since then Dean had opened his cash drawer to a mountain of fake spiders and fallen for a joy buzzer at least twice.

Cas was more concerned about his college midterms than anything Gabe was up to though he still smirked and rolled his eyes when Dean explained the man’s antics at the end of the day. Dean could tell that Cas was stressed, but the most he could really do was continue to offer encouragement and fix him cups of tea in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep.

The first time Cas had put on the tea kettle at 2 a.m. it had scared the living shit out of Dean. Cas was anticipating Dean being a heavy sleeper and that a few seconds of the tea kettle whining wouldn’t affect him too much. He was very wrong; one second an unidentifiable dream and the next steam screaming only a few feet from the living room was enough to have Dean scrambling out of bed and on the floor with a pounding chest in mere seconds. Cas apologized about thirty times before the chamomile tea had steeped for an appropriate amount of time, an extra mug set out for Dean who was slowly but surely recovering from the almost heart-attack.

The next time, Cas had been a lot kinder. He’d perched himself on the edge of the pull-out mattress and lightly shaken Dean awake. It brought a smile to his face to see Dean’s shadowed eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as the man slowly regained consciousness.

“Dean,” he’d whispered as soon as their eyes had locked, feeling to need to stay quiet though there was no reason to. “I can’t sleep.”

“Yeah?” Dean groggily replied, groaning as he sat himself up. “Me neither with you waking me up the second doze off.” His voice held no spite, in fact, a small smirk tweaked the corner of Dean’s lips. He rubbed at his eyes and stretched his arms above his head, a small strip of skin at his hip exposing itself to Castiel’s eyes. He tried not to linger on the soft-looking flesh, his tired mind definitely not wanting to take Dean’s shirt off entirely and lay kisses on the entirety of his stomach.

“I wanted to make tea and didn’t think you’d appreciate it if you were awakened by the kettle again,” Castiel said, averting his eyes to the kitchen and forcing himself to think of where he’d last put the tea kettle. He needed to stop having these thoughts about Dean, they were friends and it was obvious that Dean wasn’t interested in changing that at any time.

“Yeah, right, you probably just wanted my company while your water takes twenty years to boil,” Dean jested, throwing the quilt he’d practically claimed from his body and standing. He looked expectantly to Cas, waiting for him to move from the bed before striding to the kitchen. Dean leaned against the counter with a yawn as Cas searched through the cabinets since he had a habit of never leaving his cookware in the same place twice. It was a little quirk that Dean really liked about Cas, even though it was annoying when he just wanted to cook up something and spent five minutes searching for a pan.

Dean was definitely not a tea-loving guy—the chamomile tasted too much like liquid nature for Dean to really appreciate the flavor—but it was nice to stand around the counter at two in the morning with his best friend sipping from mismatched mugs.

As October 31st grew closer, most people were extremely excited for the holiday and the fun that it entailed. Dean, however, felt his muscles tightening with nerves with each day that passed, knowing that after Halloween lay a day that had much worse meaning in the Winchester household. And even though Dean was no longer living in that household, he’d grown up in it and still couldn’t help but feel on edge.

The second of November was the day his mother died, and Dean would never forget it. He’d woken up knowing something was wrong and before the day was over Mary Winchester had taken her last breath. His father would never let them forget the anniversary, either, drinking himself stupid for the entire day leading up to it and lasting through it. It wasn’t John’s fault though, it hurt Dean to be reminded of losing her and he knew his dad just wanted to numb the agony.

Dean also knew that Cas was fully aware of how tense Dean had become in the weeks leading up to November 2nd, but thankfully wasn’t pressing the issue and asking Dean why. Cas just understood that it wasn’t something to talk about, and Dean was grateful to no end. He didn’t even know how he’d explain it, knowing that it would probably sound dumb to be afraid of a day.

He’d considered asking off for the day but felt that Gabriel really needed the help since there would be an abundance of people looking to take advantage of the after-Halloween discounts on candy. It had to have been so, seeing as Dean was given an extremely rare afternoon shift.

Dean tried to make it through the entire eight hours, he honestly did. A few hours in, however, Gabriel pulled him aside after Dean had zoned out for several minutes and completely ignored customers at his register. “Buddy, I can tell something’s going on with you today and I can tell that it isn’t something you want to talk about.” He ended the sentence with a lilt, almost a question to be sure that Dean wasn’t going to be sharing.

“I’m sorry, Gabe, I really am—”

“It’s fine, Dean-o, just take the rest of the day off and sort yourself out,” the shorter man cut in with a wave of his hands. Dean had never called in to work or even been tardy for his shift, so Gabe had no problem with cutting his model employee some slack. Of course, Dean’s stressing was a deterrent to customers so his intentions weren’t entirely moral.

Dean gave his boss a look of pure appreciation, similar to that he’d given when he’d been told he’d be sure to get the job, and went to the break room to punch out. He gave a nod to the other employees who were clocked in, college students that he typically never worked shifts with but still had a polite acquaintanceship with, as he strode out the main door and into the nippy November day. Dean hadn’t bothered to call Cas to come pick him up as he knew the route back to their apartment even though he knew the man had finished his volunteering for the day and was more than likely curled up on the couch with a textbook.

He needed the walk back to the apartment to hopefully clear his mind, the chill raising goosebumps on Dean’s skin that he was thankful for. The assault of cold to his skin was a minor distraction to the anxiety pumping through his blood. He paused for a moment to lean against the part of the brick wall outside Trickster’s, trying to calm his breathing and just make it back to the apartment. Dean’s mind was racing with every bad thought he’d ever had, and he knew he was overreacting but he just couldn’t stop the thoughts.

Dean set a quick pace, heart pounding and needing to be in the safety of home before he broke down completely, which he knew was inevitable at this point. His hands were shaking with the force of the worthlessness and coursing through his veins. He was worthless, his father had told him so much. That ruined everything he touched and couldn’t even stop his brother from wanting to leave him. It wasn’t true, but somehow it was merely because John had said it.

The tears stung behind his eyes as he turned street corner after street corner, willing himself to remain outwardly calm despite the turmoil that every fiber of his being was facing. He didn’t understand why he was going back to Cas’ despite it being his home. Dean would fuck that up too, sooner or later—it was a miracle that he hadn’t yet and he couldn’t risk staying around until he did.

Cas deserved so much more than that.

So much more than Dean.

Dean had to get out before Cas realized that. Or worse, never realized it. As soon as he got to the apartment he would gather his limited wardrobe and any essentials that he’d brought with him and high tail out as fast as he could. And he wouldn’t stay in the city this time—he’d pick a direction and keep walking until his legs gave out.

Unfortunately making up his mind wasn’t enough. The second he forced his way through the door and saw Cas laying calmly on the couch, wrapped in the quilt that Dean used every night with his head tilted in confusion at seeing Dean home early, he crumpled. All of the fight spilled out of him with the tears running hot down his face, and he barely registered Cas worriedly calling his name.

Dean fell to the floor, head first up against the door and then cradled in his own hands between his knees. He needed to stop crying, it was childish and ridiculous and he had no reason for it, but that only caused more sobs to rack his figure, hurt noises flinging themselves from his mouth without permission. Dean knew that Cas was crouched in front of him in seconds, but he could only vaguely see the man through the tears clouding his vision.

Cas was saying something, but Dean couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears, and the man reached out to place a hand lightly on Dean’s shoulder. Dean didn’t have it in him to shrug the comforting hand off of his shoulder, burying his face further into his knees so that Cas wouldn’t have to look at his blotchy face. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, weeping like a baby on his best friend’s floor and worrying him so much, it was downright selfish and it just added to the load of self-loathing that was twisting in his chest.

“Dean, what’s wrong? How can I help? Please, tell me what’s happened,” Cas spoke with unfiltered concern, desperate to find out what Dean needed. He’d known Dean was stressing about something lately and he was instantly regretting not finding out what it was and doing something about it sooner. But that was something he could reprimand himself for later because Dean was in the middle of some kind of panic or anxiety attack and that was more important.

“Dean,” Cas placed his other hand on Dean’s knee right next to where his face was hidden, “I’m going to count to ten and I need you to breathe with me, okay?” He saw a fraction of a nod and began counting slowly, allowing time for Dean to breathe in between each number, following the rise and fall of the man’s shoulders as he did so. Cas didn’t care if he had to sit on that floor all night, as long as Dean was better by the end of it, it would be entirely worth it.

After the second round of tens, Dean lifted his head to look Cas in the eye as he counted, mouth wide and chest heaving as he complied with Cas’ voice. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and his face was shiny with what remained of his sobbing. It didn’t look like any fresh tears were falling, and Castiel counted that as a small victory.

He could see that Dean’s hands were still trembling where they were clutched in his pants. “Dean, do you think you can make it to the couch?” He asked after he’d been counting for over a minute. Cas was sure to keep his voice calm and neutral since it was fine if his friend didn’t want to have to walk across the living room yet.

Dean nodded and shakily rose to his feet, Cas quickly placing a hand on his arm and moving them towards the sofa. When Dean was sitting on the cushions, Cas took the initiative to drape the quilt over Dean’s shoulders and pull it comfortingly tight. “Dean, do you mind if I put my arm around you?” Cas thought that Dean might recover quicker with a bit of human contact, but he wanted to make sure he wasn’t pushing any boundaries.

Wide, green eyes turned to search the inquiring blues they found and immediately Cas was afraid that he’d added yet another stressor to the situation, which was the worst thing he could’ve done. After a beat, however, Dean opened his mouth a fraction and croaked out, “Yeah, uh, you can.” Castiel slowly turned his body towards the other man’s, placing his arm around to his opposite shoulder, shifting closer to wrap the other arm around his torso.

Dean’s breathing sped up for a second before returning to a healthy pace, and Castiel could feel him physically relax under the close proximity. The television had been on for background noise while Cas was reading ahead in his Art Appreciation textbook, and now it still played on an episode of How It’s Made. Somewhere between deconstructing a wheelchair and an aluminum canoe, Cas had moved his arm up to lightly stroke through the hair at the side of Dean’s head.

Wrapped loosely around Dean, Cas was at his most calm in ages. The stress of his midterms was easily forgotten with an insistent warmth against his side even through the quilt between them, and Cas only hoped that whatever had been on Dean’s mind was less pronounced as well. It had honestly scared him, and even though Dean was going to protest, Cas would request they talk about whatever it was before too long when Dean was feeling up to it.

Dean’s stomach growled softly as the sky darkened outside, and both men were reluctant to pull away from their embrace. They warmed up spaghetti from the night before and returned to the sofa, leaning comfortingly against each other, a reminder of what had occurred earlier. Dean seemed to be fully recovered but a bit nervous, which Castiel assumed was fear of judgment from the way he had lost control of himself. Of course, there wasn’t a single cell in Castiel’s brain that criticized Dean’s behavior, since he knew it was in no way his decision to have an anxiety attack.

Cas mustered up a bit of nerve after they’d washed their plates. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” He kept his voice as neutral as he could, which he had to admit was one of his skills.

Dean wiped a hand down his face and refused to meet his roommate’s eyes. “Not…not now.” Cas deserved to know what had happened but Dean didn’t know if he could explain everything in a way that made sense. The man nodded in a way that was too understanding and sent a pang of guilt through Dean’s chest.

Outside the window, the sky was fully dark, and Cas excused himself to do his before-bed routine. Dean followed in his footsteps, changing into his honorary pajamas and breathing steadily through the nerves that still existed in the back of his mind. When Cas was finished in the bathroom Dean took the initiative to brush his teeth and wash his face.

Dean exited the bathroom to see Cas standing over the counter placing two teabags into separate cups, tea kettle not yet whistling on the stove. Dean went to stand with him, the silence in the air contrasting comfortably with the commotion in his brain. It seemed like Cas was being weighed down by his thoughts as well, but neither was speaking their mind.

He didn’t know why but Dean felt oddly exposed in Castiel’s presence after his episode earlier in the day, where Cas was composed and neutral as usual. He wanted more than anything to open up to his roommate further, explain everything. Tell Cas the reasons why he’d freaked out, convey the anger boiling in his gut that he was unable to share any of his feelings, reveal why he had been homeless and what had gone wrong in his family because of him.

Finally voice how infatuated he was with Cas, that he wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in the man’s arms for the rest of his life. That he wanted Cas’ lips and body and mind and soul and Dean wanted to share all of himself and more with Cas as well. Maybe he’d desired that since their very first conversation or it didn’t develop until Cas had driven out in the rain to bring him a new life, but Dean knew it had been manifesting much longer than he’d let himself admit before now.

He needed to let Cas know, even if Cas didn’t share his feelings or it drove an awkward stake in their friendship. Dean couldn’t live another minute without Cas knowing exactly how he felt. It wasn’t fair to either of them to continue on in this awkward dance of platonic intentions when so much more was possible. Of course, if Castiel didn’t share his sentiments, Dean wouldn’t press for something that wasn’t reciprocated. Dean had spent so much time worrying about his feelings not being mutual that he hadn’t considered the possibility that they were.

Cas was standing less than a foot away from Dean during his revelation and was currently toying with the teabag as it steeped in the hot water he’d just poured over it. Dean’s mug laid next to it, honey-yellow seeping out into the clear water. Dean considered his words carefully as he moved the teabag from one side of the cup to the other, needing a distraction for his hands.

When they deemed their tea steeped enough, they leaned against the counter and sipped tentatively at the steaming liquid. “Cas?” Dean ventured in a quiet voice, not wanting to interrupt the tranquility of the apartment too extremely.

“Hmm?” Cas replied through his tea, turning to look at Dean even though the man was staring into space.

A beat passed before Dean spoke again. “I, um, I don’t know if I want to sleep alone tonight,” he declared more to the floor than to Cas. He was hoping that his words meaning was obvious to the other man because he didn’t know if he could ask ‘Can I sleep with you in your bed tonight?’ without dying. Cas made no immediate response and Dean was almost worried that he had imagined himself speaking at all.

He turned to the man at his left, shocked to see that when they were face to face there was less than a foot of space between them. Cas’ eyebrows were furrowed deep in thought, tongue peeking out to moisten his lips and Dean’s gaze shifted towards them without permission.  They were so pink and looked so soft and Dean would’ve given anything for the opportunity to kiss them. If Dean’s face wasn’t already blushing furiously, it wouldn’t be long.

Dean raised his eyes once again to the endless irises of Castiel’s eyes. There wasn’t a doubt in Dean’s mind that Cas knew exactly where Dean’s eyes had just been focused and the thoughts that had accompanied the leer. Everything was in slow motion and Dean’s head was clouded with desire as Cas reached up and touched Dean’s cheek in a barely-there caress.

It was Dean who closed the distance between the two, lips meeting in a warm kiss that was indescribable and unlike anything Dean could’ve ever imagined. They slid together in a perfect pressure, the hand on Dean’s cheek remaining where it was while another came up to clutch at his shoulder, as if Cas needed something stable to keep him from falling, which made Dean’s heart flutter. The kiss didn’t progress from lips gliding together—no tongue, no teeth—but it was the most sensual that Dean had ever had.

They pulled apart and Dean kept his eyes shut for an extra moment, partially to catalog every millisecond that had just passed and partly to comprehend them. When he did open his eyes, Cas was staring back at him with uncertainty, but not for the reasons Dean feared.

“I wasn’t…I didn’t know if you felt the same,” Castiel breathed, eyes flitting away from Dean’s gaze. The man responded by grasping Cas’ hand from his cheek and kissing the fingertips lightly. Dean’s lips still tingled from their contact with Cas and it seemed like a reassuring action.

“I don’t think I wanted to admit that I did until now,” Dean replied in the same quiet tone, feeling as though a million things had happened in the span of a few minutes and his mind wasn’t processing anything correctly. There was no way that he and Cas had actually kissed and that Cas had actually been more-than-okay with it. Dean Winchester didn’t have that kind of luck.

Dean awkwardly reached over, not wanting to push anything too quickly and still slightly afraid that his mind was playing tricks on him and hooked his hand gently around the base of Castiel’s neck. He dipped his head down a second time, watching Cas’ eyes for hesitation like he should’ve done the first time. Their lips slotted against each other like they were designed for it, as if the forces of nature had always intended on them to be together in this exact moment.

Cas fingered lightly through the hair at the base of Dean’s neck as his hot tongue danced across Dean’s bottom lip.  An inhuman sound caught in his throat and a shiver racked his body at the thought that Cas wanted to deepen the kiss and take it further. Heat coursed through his veins and he needed more. Dean needed so much more. Which was why he had to force himself to pull away from the kiss, his mind and body screaming at each other as he disconnected himself from Castiel.

It wasn’t that Dean didn’t want to keep going—because, God, he did—it was just that he knew they’d regret it if they took it too far before talking through what it all meant. Dean didn’t want to sleep with Cas and then have to act like it never happened, but he wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to pursue a real relationship with everything else that was weighing against him. Dean wasn’t sure what Cas would be comfortable with in a relationship, or even if that was something that fully interested the man.

There was too much to consider to just let their bodies take advantage of the situation. Castiel seemed to understand why Dean had ended the kiss before it escalated further, as he took Dean’s hand in his supportively, a smile still occupying his eyes.

“Would you like to join me in my bedroom, Dean?” Castiel asked, sounding playfully suggestive, as if he were hiding joy at being able to voice the sentence. Obviously afraid that his words had been taken the wrong way, Cas added, “We don’t have to do anything but sleep, I promise. I wouldn’t ask you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with.”

Dean nodded, hand still resting in Castiel’s as they walked towards the bedroom, leaving their half-filled tea mugs on the counter. He thought that he would be nervous, entering Cas’ room knowing that they would be spending the night in the same bed, but it was quite the opposite. He felt calm with the knowledge that he would feel Cas’ warmth near him and be enveloped in his scent as he drifted off.

Cas had a nice sized Queen bed that took up the majority of the small bedroom. Dean had never so much as looked into the room for fear of invading his roommate’s privacy, but now that the door was closed behind him it didn’t feel as intimidating. Cas kept his space messily organized, in a way that Dean assumed Cas could find anything he was looking for even though Dean would take a few hours to find it. His bedspread was a deep tan and appeared plush in a way that had Dean’s muscles aching from his nights on the bare pull-out mattress.

Settling himself into the bed, Castiel flicked his bedside lamp on, motioning for Dean to turn out the overhead. A yawn escaped the man as he pressed the light switch down and the room fell into darkness besides the glow from Cas’ table. Dean sauntered forward slowly, feeling a bit nervous but still excited to be spending the night next to Castiel, fulfilling a fantasy he’d created as he slept alone most nights of the past month.

The comforter was fluffy against his back and the pillow was velvety under his cheek as he settled into the bed on his stomach. The mattress moved as Cas adjusted himself for sleep after turning the lamp off. Dean reached out for Castiel’s hand, pretending to get comfortable when he really only wanted to be as close to the other man as he could without them touching too much.

Dean fell asleep with the weight of Cas’ hand in his own and the sound of his breathing setting his troubled mind at ease, which was the best thing he could’ve asked for after the weeks of anxiety he’d been dealing with.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean came to his senses convinced that he was still in the midst of a lucid dream. Warmth was occupying every pore of his skin and he wanted nothing more than to sink further into the inviting heat that seemed to stem from against his back. Moving further toward consciousness Dean was soon entirely aware of what had happened while he and Cas had slept.

Castiel’s arm was slung over his side and every inch of his front was pressed against Dean’s back. They must’ve moved closer in their involuntary states, attracted like magnets until no space was left between them. It may have been poetic if it were any other morning and Dean didn’t have to piss like he’d drunk an entire city’s water supply.

Despite every ounce of his body besides his bladder’s protests, Dean extracted himself from Castiel’s grasp, eliciting a groan from the still-sleeping man, and carefully moved to relieve himself. The sun was bright through the wide window in the kitchen and the stove timer read just after 7 o’clock. Dean rolled his muscles which were ringing with happiness at sleeping in Cas’ comfortable bed and soothing embrace.

Giddiness was not a feeling that Dean Winchester would admit to feeling, ever, but it was the closest thing to describe his mood on this morning. He’d kissed Cas last night, and Castiel had been overjoyed about it! Even if this changed everything, there was no way that it could be in a negative way. They’d talk it through and figure out each other’s preferences were in a relationship, if that was even something that they’d want to label. The way Castiel had kissed him last night, how his hands had clung to Dean’s shoulders and the nape of his neck, there was no way that he didn’t feel something similar to what Dean had been hiding for weeks.

Not having to be in work until nine today, Dean filed around the cabinets for flour, sugar, and other choice ingredients. He set to work on a stack of easy pancakes with a smile on his face, knowing that when Cas decided to grace the living room with his grouchy presence, he would be thankful for hot breakfast. The air was soon filled with low sizzling and the smell of good cooking.

A stack of pancakes sat steaming on a plate when Cas appeared and poured his expected mug of coffee. A scowl slowly dissipated from his lips as he drank it down quickly and refilled the cup. Dean portioned the pancakes among two plates and passed one over to Cas, followed by the maple syrup after it had been liberally applied to his own.

“What made you decide to cook such an extravagant breakfast?” Cas raised an eyebrow while he cut into his stack.

“Not sure, just felt like pancakes was a good idea,” Dean shrugged and grinned around a bite. They were both leaning against the counter that separated the kitchen and the living room, exactly where they had been the night before. If Dean were to reach over and kiss Castiel, it would be okay, and his lips would taste like maple syrup instead of toothpaste.

Dean may have spent a little too much time staring at the man at his right, because Cas finished his breakfast before Dean had made a dent in his. Could you blame him, though? Cas’ hair was everywhere and his jaw gleamed with a few days’ stubble, eyes still puffy from sleep and unfocused as he ate.

“I take it you slept well?” Cas interrupted Dean’s reverie with his question.

Dean took a moment to compose himself, cheeks brightening with having been caught staring. “I did, yeah, thanks for letting me share your bed.” He was unsure of what to say, how he should bring up the fact that he never wanted to sleep without Castiel by his side again.

“It was no problem. If I’m being entirely honest, I’ve been dreaming about offering the other half of my bed to you for a while now.” Cas averted his eyes a bit, and Dean tried not to look entirely overjoyed by those words. It was quiet for a moment, embarrassment radiating from Castiel who had probably not planned on saying anything about it.

“You know, if you had, I probably would’ve accepted,” Dean spoke at his breakfast, his face warming at the admission. His peripheral vision noted Cas whipping his head around to look at him, though he didn’t move to meet his gaze. Instead, Dean piled the last of the pancake on his plate into his mouth and rose to rinse the excess syrup off the plate.

“So, last night, you—you meant it?” Castiel asked timidly. At this, Dean met his stare, the feet between them nonexistent. Cas was talking about the kiss, something in his voice made that obvious. A kiss that Dean had been craving for weeks; did Cas think he somehow regretted it?

“Of course I did, Cas.” The moment was breaching upon chick-flick territory, but Dean didn’t feel repulsed by it when the man rose and stepped into his personal space. His irises flashed around the features of Dean’s face in a millisecond, resting on his lips before rising to meet his eyes.

“Can I?” Cas asked at the same time that Dean muttered, “Please.”

Dean’s hands ran though Cas’ sleep addled hair as he leaned forward enough to meet the man’s mouth for the second time. The night before had been languid, and this kiss was more heated with the knowledge that it wouldn’t be the last. Castiel’s fingers twisted in the back of Dean’s thin tee, his fingernails scraping his shoulder blades the barest amount and sending chills down Dean’s spine.

Castiel’s supple lips contrasted greatly with the rough scratch of his stubble against Dean’s jaw, and a molten tongue snaked out to stroke at his bottom lip. Mouth opening in a silent gasp, Dean realized that he’d been walked backwards toward the counter and was being pressed into it by Castiel’s rousing and demanding body. The flawless assault on Dean’s mouth and body was almost too much for him to handle—he didn’t think he’d ever been this turned on in his life.

The second he felt Castiel’s groin rub against his own, Dean had to break the kiss. “Cas, oh God, I have to go to work in a few minutes,” he was breathless and it was almost beyond the capacity of his lust-filled brain to finish the sentence.

Castiel rested his head against the inside of Dean’s shoulder as he panted, trying to regain control of his breathing. “Of course, I’m sorry, I got a bit carried away.”

“No, it’s no problem, just… raincheck, okay?” Dean ran his hands through Cas’ hair a last time and then moved to the bathroom. He took a quick (cold) shower, brushed his teeth, and then dressed in his work uniform, a white button down and slacks. Dean had no idea how he was going to concentrate on his job knowing that a raincheck was in play, but after leaving early the night before he knew he’d have to find a way.

When he exited the room, Cas was sitting on the counter’s edge with a textbook in his hands. He had classes today, so that was another good reason why Dean hadn’t let their actions progress any farther. “Would you want to go out to dinner tonight?” Cas spoke to his textbook. Knowing Cas, he’d probably been rehearsing the question the entire time Dean was getting ready for the day, and that brought a lightness to Dean’s chest that he couldn’t explain.

“That sounds awesome, what’d you have in mind?”

“There’s a restaurant downtown that serves free desserts with any meal?”

“Dude, why did I not kiss you sooner?”

· · ·

It was a great day at work, but probably elevated by the anticipation of dinner later on. It was a date, though neither of them had used the word, and yet Dean wasn’t dreading the idea. This wasn’t like in high school when he’d take a girl on a date, spend an hour in awkward conversation and then go and make out in the back of a movie theater.

No, this was with Cas, his best friend. If there was making out toward the end Dean would be the last to complain, but he refused to let the dinner be awkward. They knew each other’s habits and quirks, what TV show to put on when the other was feeling down, and just how much salt and pepper was required in their meals. Cas had held him while he cried and while he slept, even if those events had only happened once each, and they were good together.

Tonight would be wonderful and nothing could ruin it, Dean was positive.

At least, until he saw the restaurant that Cas was thinking of when he proposed dinner.

A sign over the front of the building glowed “Harvelle’s Roadhouse” and music erupted from the doorway when a group of people exited, laughing. It was an establishment that Dean knew too well and he was immediately on edge. “Why’d you decide to come here?” He tried to sound nonchalant instead of defensive but he hadn’t succeeded.

“I’ve been here a time or two before, they have good food and an amiable atmosphere. Would you rather go someplace else? I wouldn’t mind,” Cas sounded confused and maybe a bit shamed, as he parked the car but left the keys in, ready to drive away. Dean suddenly felt idiotic; was he really going to make them eat somewhere else because he didn’t want to face the people he’d been avoiding for months?

“No, no, this is great,” Dean assured the man in the driver’s seat, tugging his seatbelt off to show that he was okay with the venue. He figured there probably couldn’t be a worse time to finally face Ellen and Bobby, the people who’d always had his back and happened to own the restaurant-slash-bar that they were going to eat at. Still, he knew that if he came to face either of them, there would be a scolding like no other in written history. One that he deserved, because he knew that they had been worrying, but still dreaded, especially in front of Cas.

Everything was safe as they entered the building and seated themselves in a booth against one of the walls. Dean was trying to act more relaxed than he really was, inwardly flinching at anyone who walked by them. There was no way he’d be lucky enough to make it through the entire meal without running into Ellen. Or worse, Jo.

“We really don’t have to eat here if you don’t want to. There’s got to be somewhere else, it really doesn’t matter to me, Dean. There are many other places to get a burger in this town, I’m positive.” Cas was so sincere and Dean felt like an absolute ass for ruining their night with his unnecessary caution.

“No, it’s just I know some people who work here. I’m being paranoid, I promise.” Dean tried to remain flippant as he reached for a menu that was stashed behind the condiments at the end of the table. Dean didn’t want to leave; he’d already made it this far and honestly didn’t want to continue ignoring people that had always been close to him.

Alternative music filled the air just loud enough to be heard but not enough to discourage conversations, and it felt homey to Dean. He’d grown up in this place, bussing tables when Ellen was short on hands and hustling pool as soon as he was tall enough to look intimidating. Some of his best childhood memories were among the worn booths and mismatched coffee cups of Harvelle’s Roadhouse.

Dean didn’t understand why he hadn’t come here as soon as John had told him to leave. Bobby and Ellen were like a second set of parents, and he shouldn’t have let dumb pride force him onto the streets. Still, if he had to live it over again he probably wouldn’t change his mind, knowing that that was how he and Cas were destined to meet.

His companion sat across the table from him, head bent over the menu set in front of him and eyebrow furled in thought. Castiel was too serious as he considered which hamburger he wanted to eat, and it was crazy adorable, as if the world’s fate rested upon bacon or mushrooms. He looked up with finality at the decision he’d made, meeting Dean’s eyes and smiling softly. Cas opened his mouth to speak but was sidetracked by the appearance of a waitress.

Jo Harvelle brought her honey-blonde ringlets and modulated voice, pulling a notepad from her apron and not yet looking at the men in the booth. “What can I get you to drink…” she trailed off as her eyes darted over Dean’s face, who was giving a nervous grin. Immediately the friendly server was gone and trademark Harvelle temper flashed in her eyes; Jo flipped her notepad closed without finishing her sentence or letting them answer, turning away with a muttered “jackass.”

Dean watched her stomp away, heart beating with horror and face paling. He knew that determined walk better than most—she was going to get Ellen.

A snicker rang out from the other side of the booth. Cas had his head thrown to the side trying to repress laughter and Dean wanted to chastise him but knew that amusement was better than worry. When Cas regained himself, he ventured, “I’m assuming that’s why you didn’t want to eat here? What did you do to that poor girl, Dean?”

“Me?” Dean asked, defensively, “Why do you automatically assume I did something?”

“With a face like yours I just assume you’ve broken a fair amount of hearts in your lifetime.” Castiel replied, matter-of-factly. He’d seemed to have given a lot of thought to the idea, and it wasn’t untrue but it still stung a little.

Dean didn’t have a good retort, so he moved to explain himself. “Her name is Jo, and I don’t think I broke her heart, maybe just pissed her off a lot.” Before he could say anymore some telltale footsteps filtered through to Dean’s ears. Oh god, he was really in for it.

Ellen stood at the end of the table, exactly where Jo had been only a minute prior, looking angry but tired. She examined Dean’s face and upper body, probably noting that he wasn’t emaciated or roughed up, and let out a halfhearted sigh. “Do you have any goddamn idea how much we’ve been worrying about you, boy?” There was unmistakable rage in her voice, but also definite relief. Dean anticipated both, though he didn’t count on them filling his chest with guilt at his actions.

“Ellen, I’m so sorry,” Dean stood to emphasize his point, a head taller than the woman in front of him but still a child in her presence. He knew Cas must feel extremely awkward in the situation, an outsider trying to piece together everything though he didn’t know most of the background information, and Dean made a note to apologize for it later.

“You’re damn right you’re sorry. John shows up at the bar and tells us he’s kicked you out and doesn’t feel a shred of remorse. Don’t know where you are and don’t care and expects me to pity his sorry ass? Bobby nearly put himself in the hospital trying to make your daddy leave.”

“Ellen, I—”

“And then we don’t hear from you at all, have no idea where you could be or if you’re dead or not.” He could see tears forming at the edges of her eyes, which meant that she was holding back some major emotions. There’s no way Ellen would cry or scream in front of a full house of customers, but Dean could read the signs that meant she wanted to. “A week passed and then a month, two; it’s still complete radio silence on your end. We were honestly considering filing a missing person’s report, Dean!”

Her hands were curled into fists and her eyes were livid, unsuccessfully attempting to control her emotions. She paused and took a deep breath. Dean knew better than to try and interrupt again, she needed to get all of this out and it would be better for him if she did it when there were witnesses. “I understand it wasn’t pure sunshine for you, but I have half a mind to wring your ass for not coming to us when you knew we’d take you in.”

Ellen looked at him pointedly as she ended that sentence, daring him to give an excuse that could in any way make up for the strife he’d caused her. Of course, there was no excuse of that caliber. “I know, Ellen, I’m so sorry. I wanted to come to you but I thought I couldn’t ask that much of you. It was stupid and I hope you’ll forgive me.” He tried to mimic Sam’s trademark puppy-eyes, and his rendition of it must’ve struck some cord with the shorter woman, as she reached up and wrapped her arms crushingly around his torso.

The hug lasted maybe a bit too long for someone who was on a date with another person, but it was far overdue. Ellen pulled away and held onto Dean’s shoulders. “You may think you’re off the hook, but wait until Bobby gets ahold of you, boy.” With that, the two gave a laugh and the tension in the air dissipated. Dean hadn’t realized how much he missed this woman, but he knew he couldn’t leave her out of his life anymore.

He turned to gesture at the table that he’d been sitting at, where Cas was rubbing a fingernail against the grain in the table though Dean knew that he’d been paying full attention to the exchange. “Ellen, this is my roommate, Castiel. We were actually supposed to be here on a kind of date.”

“Yeah, yeah, I see. I’m guessing you’re the reason it’s taken Dean months to get back to us?” She said with no true accusation and a smile on her face. They shook hands as Dean sat back down and Ellen left with a promise to send a couple of beers their way. Dean was definitely happy that he and Ellen were on better terms now, though he knew she’d be holding this against him for a while longer.

“She’s definitely a character,” Cas stated with a smirk.

“One could say that. I love Ellen, though, she’s really helped both me and Sam since our mom passed, her husband, Bobby, too. Hell, they’re practically family. I do feel bad that I avoided them this whole time, if I’d have known about my dad coming in here and worrying them I probably wouldn’t have.”

“You never talk about your family around me, blood or not.” Castiel’s eyes were downcast, focusing at a spot in the color of the table. It was obvious he wanted to ask about them, know more about Dean’s background, but didn’t want to seem intrusive by asking. It was no secret that Dean had avoided telling Cas too much about his past, but Cas deserved to know. He’d never pushed for anything more than Dean was willing to share, and Dean didn’t want to have anything kept hidden from the man across the table.

Another waitress appeared, this one with a nose-piercing whom Dean had never met, meaning that Jo had probably blatantly refused to serve their table. Dean was going to have to do a lot of wallowing, because Jo was the absolute queen of holding grudges. As a formality, Ruth checked both of their IDs before the two beers were placed in the center of the table and she took their burger orders. When she was gone again, Dean took a swig from his bottle while Cas looked at him encouragingly.

“Um, I lived with my mom, dad, and brother growing up until my mom died when I was ten—cancer. My dad was kind of an alcoholic and my brother was kind of a genius. They got into fights a lot and I had to keep them from killing each other, but my dad still wanted us to stick together as a family, you know?” Dean could tell that he was entirely butchering this entire story, but Cas nodded with understanding.

“Anyway it came time for Sammy, my brother, to go off to college and he had his sights set on Stanford but Dad wanted him to go to one more local. Sam applied to both and then didn’t tell Dad he’d gotten accepted at Stanford until the night he left for California. Then Dad got mad at me because I didn’t try to stop Sammy from leaving like he thought I should’ve. But, I was happy that he was following his own dreams, I was proud that he was escaping from my Dad.

 “So Dad told me to get out, didn’t really give me a chance to pack anything, and I did. I felt really bad about it at first, not wanting to keep my family together like I’d always tried to do. Dad definitely made it seem like something to be guilty about, and it really messed with me for a while. But, like I said, I was proud of Sam, still am, and I want him to go far in life. I thought I could make it on my own when Dad made me leave and I don’t think I was doing a good job of it, but I was still too stubborn or proud to come to Ellen and Bobby. And then I met you, and everything got a little better.” They both smiled a little, and Cas reached his hand across the table to press it atop Dean’s comfortingly.

“Well I’m definitely glad I can contribute to your happiness, Dean.”  Dean turned his hand so that Castiel’s soft palm rested perfectly against his own. One of the hands that helped Cas accomplish anything he put his mind to and had held Dean up when he needed it. “And I honestly hope that I can continue to.”

“Me too, Cas,” Dean said feeling almost star-struck at how happy he was now that there wasn’t a huge secret on his chest that he was keeping from Cas. Sure, Dean would probably have to further explain everything later, but for now it was enough to know that he would. He didn’t know how he could possibly condense twenty-one years into a single dinner, so it was relieving to know that the minimal information he gave had been sufficient.

“I take you haven’t talked to either your brother or your father since that night?” Cas questioned, still looking at their joined hands.

“No, I mean I knew my dad didn’t want to see me but I never thought Sammy would too. He’s probably just busy getting on at Stanford, though, I’m sure he’ll call sometime.” Dean would give Ellen the number for the cell phone he bought a few weeks back to give to Sam if he tried to get in contact. For all Dean knew it was the only thing stopping them from being in contact.

“Would you have gone with your brother had he asked?” Cas asked and Dean was taken aback. He’d never considered following Sam to California, but it had never seemed like an option. Maybe it could’ve been. A better question would be if Sam would’ve let Dean tag along if he had asked.

“I don’t know.” Ruth returned then, handing out their burgers and replacing their empty beer bottles with glasses of water (which had Ellen written all over it). Dean’s double bacon cheeseburger was better than he could ever remember, though he’d had more in his life than he could remember. He bit into it and gave a louder-than-necessary noise of approval. Cas took a bite from his own and closed his eyes in satisfaction.

“Ah, yes,” Cas breathed after he’d swallowed the mouthful. “These make me very happy.” Dean gave a chuckle and replied that the Roadhouse’s burgers could bring world peace if they’d marketed them better.

When their desserts arrived in the form of pie and ice cream, Dean was content in the fact that this had been one of the best nights of his life. And when a crack of thunder sounded outside, he was reminded that it wasn’t over. He gave a small laugh as he threw a forkful of pecan pie onto his tongue. “Hey, Cas, remember what I said this morning about a raincheck?”

The man’s face reddened a bit at the insinuation, but he smiled at the sound of rain against the Roadhouse’s roof. They paid their check and tipped their waitress, then bid adieu to Ellen. Dean gave her his cell phone number but she still didn’t fail to threaten him with death if he tried to go longer than a week without checking in.

They exited the building, music fading into the soft patter of rain on the pavement of the parking lot. They sped to the side of the lot where Cas’ Subaru was parked, laughing with the feel of droplets hitting their faces and peppering their shoulders. Dean felt exhilarated, maybe with the relief at making amends with Ellen or the amazing meal sitting in his stomach or the smile that Cas was giving him now, half shadowed by a streetlight. He wasn’t sure, but his blood was pumping and he’d never felt better.

The headlights flashed when the car unlocked and the two men threw themselves into the dry interior. Heaving breaths competed with the echoing rain on the metal roof; Dean turned but before he could say anything he was being pulled willingly into a demanding kiss. It lacked any type of finesse but Dean had been craving it all night and couldn’t care that their teeth clacked together faintly on impact.

If anything, the fact that Castiel had entirely lost his inhibitions was enough to prompt a moan from Dean’s chest and a hand slipping into the other man’s hair smoothly. All Dean really wanted to do was climb into the Cas’ lap and press their bodies as close as physics would allow, but he would rather do that without a steering wheel pressing into his back and the center console between them would be a bitch to navigate.

As if they’d both been thinking the same thought, they pulled apart after another minute of heated kissing. They rested their foreheads together as they regained their breathing, feeling the others’ dessert-sweet breath and forcing themselves not to close the minuscule distance again. Cas turned away first to turn the keys in the ignition, putting the car into drive and maneuvering onto the main road.

Dean would want to say that Cas broke at least three different traffic laws to get them home quicker, but Cas was as cool and collected as ever. It was unexplainable how he wasn’t in the same situation as Dean, whose mind was racing with everything that could happen when they got home and was definitely feeling as though his jeans were too tight. No, Cas was obviously disheveled and he shifted once or twice in his seat, but he was respectful of the speed limits and all traffic signs, which, in Dean’s opinion, was downright lame.

He thought about saying something suggestive, but wasn’t sure what would end up sounding silly instead of seductive. The drive was less than fifteen minutes and the radio hummed lowly while the air steadily crackled with anticipation and electricity. Somewhere during the drive, or maybe they’d been like that since the beginning, their fingers tangled together against the console between them and Dean was rubbing slow circles with his thumb against the side of Cas’ hand.

They pulled to a park outside of the apartment building and Dean spared no time kicking open his door and racing to the driver’s side of the car. As soon as Cas closed his door, Dean was on him—pressing his back into the rain soaked window and claiming his mouth like life depended on it. Water was chilling deep into his clothing but it did nothing to stifle the heat building in Dean’s body, it merely gave more incentive to take off each other’s clothes as soon as possible.

It may have been dark but anyone who glanced outside their windows could see the two making out in the very public parking lot. The thought stirred some sort of jealousy in Dean; no one else deserved to see Cas completely debauched but him. Dean slipped his hand along the wet sleeve of Cas’ shirt before grabbing his hand, pulling him along towards the apartment building.

The walk up the stairs and unlocking the door was a blur, but the moment that they were inside their living room the tables turned. Cas wasted no time stepping into Dean’s space and pressing him against the wall next to the door, keeping him in place with his hips and his lips, somehow both forceful and gentle in a way that was more than Dean could handle. His head fell back against the wall and away from Castiel’s mouth, which didn’t lose a beat before finding purchase against Dean’s jawline and neck.

“Oh, God, oh,” Dean whimpered nonsensically at the air above Cas’ hair, which was matted from rain droplets still sticking to it. Dean was hyperaware of how his clothes were sticking to his skin with the precipitation and wanted nothing more than to have them off, now. Cas seemed to have a similar idea but took more time mapping out Dean’s neck and collar than Dean was anticipating.

Cas placed a hand at the edge Dean’s tee, fingers probing the barest amount at the stretch of stomach underneath. Raising his head from the muscle between Dean’s neck and shoulder and bringing his lips to the shell of Dean’s ear, Cas breathed, “Can I take this off of you?” and tugging lightly on the worn fabric. Dean was straining in his jeans and needed Cas’ hand just an inch lower but choked out an affirmative.

Dean raised his arm above his head as Cas dragged the wet tee off of him, throwing it into a corner with a damp noise. He shivered as the air assaulted his exposed skin and gave a shaky gasp as Cas’ hands ran over his chest and down to the small of his back. Everything was happening too slowly and it was agonizing, but Dean had honestly expected no less after the months they’d both obviously been too shy to admit this was what both of them wanted.

Grabbing Cas’ hand, Dean found his brain long enough to lead the man into the bedroom. He brought Cas in for another kiss as he quickly made work of the man’s button-down, running his hands over the rippling muscles of the man’s chest and abdomen. Castiel dropped to his knees and, despite Dean’s sex-crazed hopes, he untied both his own and Dean’s shoes with precision.

Dean felt ready to burst when Cas looked up at him, his face inches from Dean’s clothed groin. The man’s nimble fingers reached to unbutton and unzip Dean, who moaned with the sudden lack of pressure on his dick. Still, Cas was more focused on undressing Dean than _finally fucking touching him_ and helped him step out of the jeans.

Cas rose once again, fingers ghosting over the waistband of Dean’s boxer-briefs. A chaste kiss was pressed to Dean’s lips before Cas whispered, “Would you want to lay down on the bed?” Dean bit his lip and nodded, turning to stride towards the plush bed and shaking his hips more than he needed to. Why shouldn’t he make a show out of it?

Dean crawled onto the mattress with his ass in the air and his chest close to the comforter, letting out breathy noises as his heated skin adjusted to the cool material. He finally settled onto his back, eyes closed and the telltale scratch of a zipper filling the air. Cas was taking too damn long and Dean would have none of it. He palmed himself through the thin fabric of his underwear, throwing his head back against a pillow at the wonderful friction.

Still, he needed more. He pushed a hand under his waistband, wasting no time in wrapping his cock in a loose grip and whining Cas’ name obnoxiously. Dean inwardly grinned with victory as he felt the bed dip next to him and Cas’ hand came to rest on his shoulder. He felt warm breath on his face and weight on his legs as Cas straddled him, yet Dean hadn’t opened his eyes.

Castiel’s hand traced down Dean’s arm and circled around his fist, following the movements of Dean’s hand on himself. Dean’s eyes flashed open and Cas’ were centimeters away, pupils blown wide and consuming the blue, which had Dean’s breath catching in his throat and pre-cum spurting from his dick. Dean knew this was going to be over embarrassingly fast but he couldn’t help it; he’d been anticipating this moment for weeks and now that it was happening Dean could not be held responsible for his actions.

As Cas began to jerk Dean’s cock in earnest, Dean brought his hands up to grip at Cas’ shoulder blades, running his nails gently over the skin, jaw dropping in ecstasy. His body was ringing and Dean barely registered his underwear being pushed down to his knees. Castiel shifted and their erections brushed, the contact punching moans out of both men.

Soon all composure was lost and they were rutting against each other, frantically seeking out their climaxes, cocks sliding against each other in Cas’ grip. Dean was panting and Cas was speaking nonsense. The half-formed curse words and blasphemous phrases he whispered in the heated air only added to the attack on Dean’s senses.

“You’re so beautiful like this. God, Dean, and the noises you make.” Cas’s head fell to Dean’s shoulder and a shiver racked his body signaling that he was close. Dean’s mind short-circuited as he realized that he was the reason Cas was on the edge.

“Cas, I’m gonna, I can’t—” Dean wasn’t sure how he would’ve ended the sentence but his orgasm was ripped from him and his muscles quaked with the force. Sparks flew across his eyelids and somewhere far away he could hear and feel Cas coming just after him. Everything was dulled and Dean felt boneless, entirely lost in a hum of pure pleasure.

Cas pressed a damp washcloth to Dean’s chest, and Dean hadn’t registered that his lover had even left the room, let alone returned. Once they were cleaned, Cas lay on the empty side of the bed and Dean crowded in next to him. Pressed tightly to Castiel’s warmth, Dean fell asleep easily and with a sated smile on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

After that night there was an unspoken agreement that Dean would be moving into Cas’ room indefinitely. They started sharing the closet and dresser, and even found another nightstand for Dean at a thrift shop. Other than their sleeping arrangement, it was like nothing changed—except everything had. Cas still visited Dean at lunch time when he was available and Dean still cooked dinner most nights, but when they decided to watch TV afterwards, it was curled into each other instead of at opposite ends.

Dean much preferred the new arrangement and would never admit that it was the reason a smile was plastered to his face on most days. Castiel seemed to enjoy it too, though his school stresses were at an all-time high with finals right around the corner. He had a research essay due in Art Appreciation, a persuasive speech to give on any topic of his choosing (which he had still yet to choose) in Public Speaking, not to mention the exams in his other two classes.

It was enough to make anyone tense, and more caffeine was being ingested in the apartment by the day. Dean was always quick to offer shoulder rubs at the end of the day; seeing Cas so filed with anxiety was worrying Dean, too, though he knew it wasn’t anything Cas couldn’t handle.

Matters were not being made better by telling Gabriel and Charlie of the developments in their relationship. The second they’d walked into Trickster’s holding hands, Gabe’s face had split into a grin that rivaled the Cheshire Cat’s, but not out of happiness for the couple. No, the first words out of his mouth weren’t even directed at Dean or Cas.

“Where’s those forty bucks, Bradbury?” He exclaimed, nearly jumping over the display case to reach the scowling redhead.

“Up your ass, Gabe,” she replied with contempt, glaring at Dean like everything bad in the world was his fault. Gabriel broke into cheery laughter as Charlie practically shouted, “You couldn’t keep it in your pants for another week, Winchester?”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Dean sputtered. The two smiled guiltily but neither offered any explanation. Suddenly, Cas’ grip on Dean’s fingers tightened and his eyes flashed dangerously.

“I swear, this better not be what it looks like, Gabriel.” His voice was pure gravel and wrath, and Gabriel could tell he’d made a huge mistake.

“Aw, c’mon, Cassie, it was so obvious that you two would get together sooner or later. Was it so wrong for me to put a little money down on it? At least I had more faith in you two than Charlie.” He tried to appeal, but Castiel was having none of it.

“Yes, Gabriel, it was wrong!” Cas was pink with anger and more than a couple of customers were enthusiastically watching the exchange. Dean was totally on Cas’ side; despite the amount of time the two spent in their personal lives, it was insensitive to place a bet on when they’d get involved. Maybe Cas was taking it a little farther than Dean, who would’ve asked for a cut of Gabriel’s winnings, but he was in the right. Still, Dean knew that no party involved wanted to have this argument in such a public place, so it was his job to intervene.

 “Gabe, that was an asshole move of yours—and you too, Charlie, don’t think you’re getting away with anything—but I’m hoping it means you’re okay with this and everything?” Dean glanced at Cas who was still a bit pink but mimicked Dean’s smile when he noticed it. Charlie had been slowly moving away from the confrontation when it seemed like it may have been verbally violent, but had been caught in the act and returned to the front counter.

“Dean, your and Cas’ happiness means a lot to us all, how could we not approve after seeing you look at each other like you can’t decide if you want to kiss passionately in the rain or fuck mercilessly on a stained mattress?” Charlie said in a lighthearted voice that contrasted entirely with her words, causing Dean’s mind to wonder just _how they had looked at each other in the past._

“You two are insufferable,” Cas deadpanned, glaring for a moment before grabbing Dean’s sleeve pulling him backwards out of the shop despite the fact that he was due for work in half an hour.

· · ·

 Finals were two week away and Dean was helpless to ease the stress that Cas was bearing on his shoulders. Sure, sometimes they’d have sex and it would fix everything for an hour or two after, but in the long run Dean felt like he could do nothing to try and make matters any better.

The worst part was how unnecessary a lot of Cas’ stress was, in Dean’s opinion, not that he’d ever tell Cas that he was overreacting. Dean knew, though, that Cas would pass his finals with top marks as soon as he could get to them—it was just a matter of waiting until they were over with.

It was on a Thursday when Dean had just gotten off work and Cas had finished his classes that things reached a fever pitch. Textbooks were strewn everywhere, sticky notes of every colors occupying edges of pages and empty spaces on table tops. Cas was in the middle of them, gripping his hair with one hand and writing down the different aspects of communication with his other.

Dean walked in the door and immediately rushed to the man sitting on the floor in front of the couch, carefully removing the hand from his hair and gripping it within one of his own. Unshed tears ringed the edge of Castiel’s eyes as he gazed into Dean’s. He opened his mouth like he wanted to explain his situation but nothing left his throat.

“Cas, babe, it’s going to be okay,” Dean kneeled in front of him and pulled him into his arms. “You don’t have to do all this studying, you know this and you’ll be amazing.”

“But there’s so much that was covered and I don’t know if I remember everything from back in August so I have to make sure that there’s nothing that they could include that would trip me up.” Cas recited as if he’d been repeating it to himself for hours.

“No, Cas, that’s not necessary, finals are all big-picture type things.” Dean actually wasn’t sure, but he knew that agreeing with Cas right now would only make everything worse and he needed to get the man to see reason. “Here, c’mon, you need a break.” Cas began to protest but Dean wouldn’t hear of it. “Nothing is going to stick in your mind if you’re like this,” he said as gently as he could, “let’s just go to the strip mall a few blocks over and try and have a little fun.”

Cas nodded, eyes still reluctant, standing and patting down the jeans he was wearing—a pair of Dean’s, he noted passively. He threw a trench coat over his shoulders to combat the early December chill, glancing at the notes he had occupying every inch of the coffee table longingly. Dean knew that studying was important to Cas, but the man needed a break every now and then or he himself would break under the pressure he placed on himself. Two hours wasted two weeks before finals wouldn’t affect his grades in the slightest.

They drove to the strip and Dean immediately pushed them into a frozen yogurt shop. The ride hadn’t seemed to improve Cas’ attitude at all, despite Dean’s attempts to engage him in a conversation as far away from school as possible. Frozen yogurt really wasn’t Dean’s forte—he was definitely an ice cream and pie man—but it was something that Cas seemed to enjoy the one time they’d had it together, and even though it was winter it seemed like a good treat.

Strawberry frozen yogurt definitely lightened up Cas’ attitude, but Dean could still see that there was weight on his mind, and Dean’s mission was to remove that as efficiently as possible. He tried a record store next, which Cas didn’t seem as excited about but kept a smile on his face as he looked through the Led Zeppelin tracks with Dean and then bought a used Of Monsters and Men CD for himself.

The shop Dean was most reluctant to go into was the one that finally brought an aura of true solace to his roommate. He was afraid that the Barnes and Noble would only serve to remind Cas of all the work he’d left at home, but Cas was insistent that they at least look around for a minute. The second they stepped inside to clean air and the spicy smell from the Starbucks in the corner, Cas’ face lightened and Dean was being dragged across the store in an instant.

Cas moved through the shelves with precision, and Dean was entranced by his sure movements. It was intriguing to watch the thinking flash on Cas’ face as he chose an interesting title, read the synopsis, flipped through and sampled a page, and then replaced it among the other stories.

Dean probably wouldn’t have registered his ringtone if Cas hadn’t broken his eyes from a page to stare at him. Fumbling for the phone in his pocket and his face burning from the looks he was receiving all around for interrupting the peace of the bookshop, Dean forcefully muted the ring and didn’t answer it. The number on the screen was from an area code he didn’t recognize, and he figured it was just some government surveyor or an automated product advertisement.

When the same number called back moments later, Dean pried the flip phone open and pressed it against his cheek. “Yeah?” He asked, a bit irritated that his time observing Cas was probably being interrupted by a lobbyer in Washington.

“Dean?” The voice on the line responded, sounding as if it were afraid it had the wrong number and would be yelled at. Dean’s eyes bulged at the reply and he almost couldn’t believe it.

“Sam? Is that you?” Cas’ gaze shot away from the bookshelf again at the mention of Dean’s illusive brother. He and Dean had talked more about their families since the night they first went to the roadhouse, but Sam still seemed like an abstract entity in Dean’s life to him. If it really was Sam on the line, it could mean everything was changing. If Sam asked his brother to move to California, Cas had no qualms that Dean would do it. And what would Cas be left with if he did? How would he focus on school with his heart having been ripped out of his chest?

“God, Sam, it sounds so good to hear your voice. How’ve you been?” Dean didn’t know how to react to his brother on the other end of the call. It had been, what, six months since they last spoke? They’d always been too close for that, of course they were siblings under the same roof at the time, but Dean had never pictured their lives becoming so isolated from one another.

“I’ve been good, just…you aren’t mad at me for leaving, are you?” Sam’s voice was clear and Dean couldn’t mistake the guilt in his tone if they’d spent years without talking.

“No, of course not, Sammy,” Dean gave a sad smile to himself even though he knew Sam couldn’t see it. He hated to think that Sam had spent this whole time thinking Dean was angry with him, but the Winchester’s default attitude is a guilty one. The best thing now is that they’re talking and Dean won’t try to avoid everyone again. “Is Stanford at least everything you dreamed of?”

Dean smiled as Sam started telling him enthusiastically about his schooling. Cas was still staring at Dean like he was expecting a bomb to go off. His blue eyes were distant, however, and Dean could tell that whatever Cas was thinking, it wasn’t a good alternative to school stressing. He waited until Sam paused after explaining his position on the debate club or something equally nerdy and interjected, “Actually, Sam, right now isn’t the best time for me to talk.”

“Oh, okay, there was something I called to tell you about, though. I’m coming back for Christmas break.”

“What, why?” Not that Dean wasn’t excited to see his brother again, but plane tickets were expensive and he didn’t see why Sam wouldn’t prefer spending the holidays with friends or something.

“I’m not really proud of the way I left everything back home so I wanna come make it right. I’ll talk to you about it later since you’ve gotta go. Bye, Dean.”

“Bye, Sammy.” Dean pulled the phone away from his ear, and Cas’ eyes flashed back to life. “That was my brother,” Dean said even though he was sure Cas had been able to tell. “He’s coming back home for the holidays.”

“That’s great,” Cas forced himself to be genuine. He at least knew now that even if Dean left with Sam for California, it would be after New Year’s, which meant they still had a month to be happy together. He was already stressing about his finals, there was no point in stressing over Dean’s inevitable departure from his life. When they were at dinner, Dean had said that he didn’t know if he would’ve gone with Sam if it were an option. Whether Cas liked it or not, it could very well become an option this time around.

The two of them spent a little more time in the bookshop before leaving. They didn’t buy anything, but the point in this escapade wasn’t to make purchases but to take some time off studying, and they achieved their purpose. When they got home and Castiel curled onto the couch, it wasn’t with his textbooks and a mind in disarray but with Dean and a mild discontentedness towards their future.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam flew in two days before Christmas, landing just after 11 in the morning. It had taken little to convince Gabe to give Dean the day off to be there when his brother got in. Dean didn’t think he’d have been able to work if he’d had to, his nerves were overwrought despite there being no real reason to worry about his brother’s arrival.

They’d talked a few times since that first phone call in the mall, exchanging stories about Dean’s recent domesticity and Sam’s alternatively academic life. Sam had immediately apologized for taking so long to contact Dean, but it had taken some courage to call up Ellen and see if she had his number. This had made Dean laugh because he’d had almost the exact same issue. Dean had told Sam all about Castiel and how amazing and wonderful the man was. How Dean had gotten a really good job and a promotion recently, and that he’d found great friends in his coworkers.

“I’m so proud of you,” Sam would say, voice low with honesty and a hint of shame in himself. Dean would then take the time to express his pride in Sam’s success at Stanford and the assurance that he wouldn’t want his life to have worked out any other way. Dean had been excited to hear that Sam was coming home for the holidays, that they’d have an opportunity to make amends and that Dean would be able to introduce the two most important people in his life to each other.

Everything had changed since Sam had left and his return, even if only for a week or two, would serve to put it all in perspective.

Bobby and Ellen were both as excited for Sam’s arrival as Dean was. Before his brother had left for California, he’d stopped by the Roadhouse a last time to bid his goodbye. Ellen had been sure to mention this as a reminder of the worry that Dean had caused them for disappearing without a word. Dean still felt a little guilty, but Ellen was no longer putting any cruelty in the statement and it had become something of a joke between them.

The three of them rode in Bobby’s old pickup truck for the hour-long drive to the nearest airport. Dean was squished into the backseat and he had no idea where Sam was expected to sit once they picked him up. The airport, despite being small, was busy with people catching flights in time to reach their destinations by Christmas and those hurrying off their flights to meet their friends and family members in the terminal.

It was pretty obvious when Sam came into view, towering over most of the passengers from his flight, despite the young age Dean knew him to be. Sam looked well, a smile stretched across his face even before he noticed he party who had come to receive him. Part of Dean had feared that the months he’d spent away from his brother would change Sam in some irrational way, but he looked just as awkward and gangly as always.

As soon as there was a clear path, Dean briskly walked to his brother, wrapping the 18-year-old in a hug, disbelieving the fact that they’d spent so long apart. Growing up, Dean had always been in charge of Sam—made him macaroni dinners when there was nothing else in the cabinets or escorted him to the library when he wanted to pursue his nerdy interests. Especially after their mom had passed, Dean had made sure that Sam never felt like his needs weren’t taken care of, even if that meant his own were neglected on occasion.

“I missed ya, Sammy,” Dean mumbled into his brother’s shoulder before he broke the embrace. Bobby soon took Dean’s place hugging Sam, and Ellen was patiently waiting her turn. Dean and Sam had always seen the two as another pair of parents and they figured that they felt the same familial bond, but this moment really confirmed it. They’d all spent so long out of contact, and they’d missed each other, even if it wasn’t always at the forefront of their minds.

“So how’s Stanford treating you?” Ellen asked as soon as they’d all sorted out how they would ride back to the Roadhouse. Sam’s sasquatch form made sitting in the cramped backseat mostly impossible, so he’d gotten the privilege of taking Ellen’s place riding shotgun. Dean and Ellen were close to comfortable in the back, though Dean had definitely complained a little that he was the older brother and still had to sit in the backseat. Bobby had told him to quit his yapping even though they were both grinning at the absurdity of the situation.

“It’s amazing, my schedule load is a little dense but it isn’t anything I can’t handle—especially since this semester was mostly just basic stuff. All of my final grades were As or Bs, so I think I’m on the right track.” Pride swelled in Dean’s chest to know that his brother was doing so well, even if he hadn’t directly had any influence on the matter. Sam had made the right decision in leaving, Dean had always been sure, but hearing that he was already doing great on his own was confirmation.

Dean was glad that Sam was back for the holiday, but he knew that the best place for Sam was off at college.

The ride was filled with more of Sam’s stories from college. He described his favorite professors and the friend’s he’d made, and made it obvious that he was hopelessly infatuated with a girl in his lit class. He talked about Jess, who had been one of the first friends he’d made at Stanford for significantly longer than he mentioned anyone else, and Dean grinned with the knowledge, filing it away for future teasing.

Dean had Bobby drop him off at his and Cas’ apartment when they got back in town. Sam would be staying with Ellen and Bobby for the next week, so Dean figured he’d give his brother some space to unpack. They’d all meet at the Roadhouse later for an impromptu get-together, which was probably the closest thing to a party Bobby would admit to hosting. Dean had invited Gabriel and Charlie along with a few other coworkers he’d befriended, and he wasn’t sure who all had gotten the word that Sam was back in town.

Of course, it was Cas who Dean was most anticipating introducing to his brother. He knew they’d get along well considering they were both finishing their first semester of college and put up with Dean on a regular basis. It was unimaginable for them not to instantly hit it off.

It was just after one when Dean closed the door to the apartment behind him, and Cas was sitting snug on the couch. Wrapped in a quilt because the heating wasn’t as efficient as either of them wished (though it made for some enjoyable sleep cuddling), Cas was reading a book by the light of the sun pouring in through the window. Apparently he preferred the natural light when synthetic light wasn’t necessary, which Dean didn’t exactly understand but was by no means going to counter. It just meant that he got to see more of Castiel with his hair lightened by sun rays and face darkened by the shadows that his angular face casted.

“You’re done with college for now, why are you still reading,” Dean antagonized his lover just to be annoying. They’d spent many an evening in each other’s presence, not speaking a word as they were absorbed into whichever book the individual was reading.

“Education doesn’t end when grades are no longer on the table, Dean,” Cas responded in a lilted tone, still watching the page but focusing on the man’s footsteps around the living room.

“Well, we have a few hours before we have to be at the Roadhouse. Do you want to spend the rest of the afternoon in a book?” Dean’s voice was sultry as he rounded behind the couch Cas was resting on.

“Are you proposing another way to spend it?” Dean knew there was a raised eyebrow on Cas’ face even though he was directly behind the man speaking. It brought a smile to Dean’s face that he knew so many of Cas’ mannerisms.

“What if I was?” Dean was trying for annoying now, because sometimes Cas said the best things when he was a little irritated and a little turned on.

“I’d ask you why you felt the need to evade the issue when we could be naked and in the bedroom right now.”

“Would you, now?”

· · ·

The Roadhouse was a beacon of light in the fading day when Dean and Cas turned into the parking lot a bit after eight. Normally, Cas would be a stickler for punctuality, but they were a bit late leaving the apartment due to a spontaneous make-out session against a wall that he’d initiated. Dean recognized some of the cars they passed as they searched for an empty space. It was the day before Christmas Eve but the Roadhouse’s bar had loyal patrons no matter the holiday.

There were also those who were here for the gathering; Dean recognized Gabe’s flashy car and Charlie’s sensible ride, and he was sure that at least two of the cars belonged to some of Sam’s friends from high school.  If he’d looked a little closer, Dean may have noticed a certain Chevy parked on the outskirts of the lot, hidden away from the streetlights and still occupied.

Cas found a spot only a short distance from the door, and he and Dean walked hurriedly to the door. The temperature was below freezing and snow was in the forecast later in the night. The Roadhouse promised warm atmosphere and people whom they loved so they were a bit desperate to be out of the cold quickly. The restaurant looked the same as always, besides a few tables having been moved out of the way for more of a socializing ground.

Ellen was behind the bar brandishing bottles of beer and calling out, “Free drinks, tonight, fellas.” Some of the regulars were more happy about it than those gathered for Sam’s homecoming, but a cheer still rang out as people crowded to the bar for something to drink. Not everyone was twenty-one yet, and Ellen sure as hell knew who was and who wasn’t, turning away one of Sam’s high school friends with some whispered words and a bottle of regular Coke.

There wasn’t a huge amount of people, but Dean at least knew everyone who had come. Cas, on the other hand, was well acquainted with the majority of them, and didn’t look uncomfortable at all. He had a smile on his face as he glanced around the room and rested his eyes on Dean’s.

Tonight was going to be perfect, Dean was sure.

Charlie was the first to greet them as they rubbed the cold from their fingers just inside the door. “Guys! I was wondering when you’d finally show. Most people got here way early, but who’s complaining? Anyways, this is my girlfriend, Dorothy,” she gestured to a brunette on her arm with a smirk on her face. Charlie was speaking excitedly, and Dean wouldn’t doubt that she was already had an alcohol buzz.

“Nice to meet you,” Cas nodded his head and offered his and Dean’s names, though Dorothy probably knew plenty about them considering Charlie’s inability to keep anything to herself.

“Have you seen my brother?” Dean asked Charlie, raising his voice fractionally to be heard over the growing conversations and music spouting from the speakers. It felt comfortable in the Roadhouse, Dean wasn’t sure how else to describe it.

“It’s kind of hard to miss him, he’s practically  a mammoth,” Charlie grinned, gesturing further into the restaurant where Sam was laughing with a group of people.

“C’mon,” Dean said excitedly, grasping Castiel’s hand and leading him in the direction of his shaggy haired mess of a brother.  The small group that had gathered around him at the edge of the bar began to disperse as the two approached, Sam watching after them and nursing an orange Nehi. It was hard remembering just how young Sam was, because he’d always acted so mature, and at the same time it was hard for Dean to remember that Sam wasn’t a twelve-year-old with a bully in need of threatening.

“Dean, hey,” Sam smiled and reached to hug his brother for the second time that day.

“Sammy!” Dean returned the hug with equal enthusiasm, patting his grudgingly taller brother on the back. Sam pulled back and his eyes flitted around the Roadhouse nervously, but Dean wasn’t sure why. This was basically a party in his favor, was Sam afraid that they would’ve invited someone that he didn’t want there? The nervousness was only apparent for a split second, but Dean had memorized his facial expressions years ago. Still, Dean wasn’t one to ruin a festive mood and filed it away for a later conversation.

“This must be Castiel, right?” Sam turned to the man at Dean’s side with an amiable grin and an outstretched hand. Cas took it after a moment’s hesitation, and shook it once, returning the smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam. I much enjoy keeping your brother’s company, and he always has kind words to say about you.” He spoke slowly, as if he wasn’t sure if his thoughts were processing themselves into words just right.

“Aw, Cas, you can just tell him that I’m the best boyfriend in the world,” Dean jested with his lips pursed dramatically, not internally screaming that he’d just used the word boyfriend. He and Cas had never had the talk about how they wanted to label themselves and the word had just slipped out.

“I have yet to meet all the other boyfriends in the world, Dean, so I cannot make the conclusion that you are the best.” Cas responded seriously in a speech of pure gravel. Dean sputtered, not expecting Cas to return a joke. Sam gave a full out laugh, probably more at Dean’s reaction than Cas’ acquired sense of humor.

“What in hell do you think you’re doing here?” A gruff question cut through all the conversations in the restaurant and every head turned toward Bobby Singer. The man was standing behind the bar, a scowl on his face and muscles tensed for action as he faced the front of the restaurant and the person that had just walked into the room. John Winchester wore a humbled expression on his face and the demeanor of a dog who knew he’d been wrong to drag mud onto the sofa.  “You’ve got a lot of goddamn nerve showin’ your face in here.”

Bobby slammed a glass on the bar and strode from behind it, hands curled into fists and a vein protruding on his forehead. Everyone was braced for a brutal fight, stepping out of the walkway between John and Bobby but it never came. One instant Sam was standing beside Dean and the next he was running forward to intercept Bobby.

“Boy, I swear—”

“Calm down, Bobby, I asked him to come here tonight.” If they had been in a teen movie, a collective gasp would’ve rose as a result of Sam’s statement, but instead the Roadhouse remained silent save the music still booming in the background. John hadn’t moved to protect himself from Bobby’s attack, standing in the same place at the front of the restaurant, dejectedly.

“Why in Hell would you do that?”

“Because you wouldn’t let me talk any other way,” John interjected. “There’s a lot of bad I’ve done in the past few months I gotta make up for.” He rubbed his neck, glancing around the room, eyes falling on Dean.

“Who is that?” Cas asked quietly as John continued talking to Bobby.

“My dad,” Dean murmured, eyes still wide with disbelief.

John immediately apologized for his and Bobby’s falling out, and then expressed remorse to Ellen as well. Bobby’s arms were crossed and he made it clear that he was in no way giving his forgiveness with an, “I don’t think I’m the one who you should be giving the most regret.”

A few people had gone back to their conversations when there was no fight, but Dean and Cas had remained where they were. John turned and walked towards the two, and Dean instinctively straightened his back and lifted his chin.

“Son, I was wrong to have done what I did, and I don’t know how I’ll make up for it but I figure this is a good start.” He fiddled in his pockets and pulled out key clip with a single key hanging from it. He reached for Dean’s hand and dropped the Impala’s key into it with a shamed smile. Dean could barely feel the extra weight in his palm, as his entire body was focusing on breathing steadily. He nodded his head once and clenched his fingers around the key clip, hoping for something to ground himself before he could reach out and grab Cas’ hand, which he didn’t want to do while his father was watching them.

John’s eyes flitted to Cas for a moment and Dean held his breath until his dad had turned to leave. “I don’t expect to be forgiven this quickly, but I’m going to head out so you guys can enjoy your party.” Dean thought he was expected to ask him to stay, but that was practically the last thing he wanted.

He waited until a minute passed after his dad walked out the door before he let himself relax fractionally. Cas placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder and Dean held it in place, letting the warmth and protection flow through him and repair his shock.

“Are you okay?” Cas sounded worried and Dean would hate to see his own expression. He must look really off balance to cause concern. Of course, Dean had told Cas about his relationship with his dad, so he must have an idea of what Dean was going through.

“Yeah, I will be,” Dean grunted, turning to envelope himself in Cas’s arms despite being an inch or two taller, closing his eyes and trying to block out any other emotions besides the security Cas gave him. He broke before he wanted to, not wanting to make too much of a scene while everyone else was trying to forget what had just happened.

The party resumed quickly after John left, most people not knowing the significance of what had taken place and not wanting to waste a night of fun and free booze. Dean had sat down at one of the booths close to the bar but still separate from the party, assuring Castiel that he needed a minute alone to gather his thoughts. He’d left him reluctantly and sought out Charlie just across the floor.

In the corner of his eye Sam sat across the table from Dean, looking at him with his deep eyes that warned of an upcoming chick-flick moment. At this point, though, Dean wasn’t going to turn away from him—Sam was probably the only one who could somewhat understand how he was feeling about his dad’s interruption.

After a long hesitation, Sam started, “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about it, I was afraid you would be angry with me or wouldn’t come.” He was truly apologetic, Dean could tell, but he couldn’t help the bit of resentment that he still felt. He had been completely caught off guard, and it could’ve turned out much worse than it had.

He fingered the keys in his hand, the familiar shape he’d memorized long before he was able to drive the machine it controlled. It was a big a part of his childhood as anything, and now it was his to care for.

“C’mon, Dean, I know your inner monologue. Talk to me instead of brooding at a party, please?”

“I can’t say I’m not upset, Sammy, but I’m more, I don’t know, confused? Dad practically kicked me out, and he wouldn’t even fess up to it. I don’t know if I can forgive him like that.” Dean’s head fell to his hands, frustration with himself and his words radiating from him. The party was booming around him, but his partying mood was yet another thing that his father had cost him. “I don’t know how to feel about him right now.”

“I’ve felt like that most of my life, Dean,” Sam was sympathetic, but Dean didn’t know how he wanted him to respond. He knew the relationship between his brother and his father had always been strained, but he’d always but it to the back of his mind and hoped that the blood in their veins would be enough to keep them together.

Obviously he was wrong and it was destined to fall apart in the end.

But, that only meant it could get better than it had been.

Charlie’s laugh split through the air and Dean rose his head to the noise. Her head was thrown back and Cas’ face was furrowed, his words obviously having not meant to be taken with hilarity. Dean smiled, still feeling troubled but not resisting the response from Cas’ unintended yet absolute charm.

“Well,” Sam followed his line of vision, “he’s gotta be pretty special.” Charlie pushed lightly at Cas’ shoulder, who was still unsure of why his words had brought such an outburst.

“Yeah, special doesn’t even begin to describe him.”


	10. Epilogue

Dean spooned cranberry sauce onto another disposable plate, smiling widely at the disheveled woman who was receiving it. Outside, Dean knew, snow was falling in sheets but the atmosphere inside Garrison was warmer than a summer day. Christmas music was being played on the piano in the corner and candles that smelled of pine and peppermint burned throughout the room. A smile was on everyone’s face, no matter if the person was a volunteer or someone seeking a Christmas dinner.

Despite soreness seeping into his wrist from serving food and his face from grinning so wide, Dean wouldn’t have stopped either for the world. He was being useful, and he was thankful to no end that Cas had seen this as a better way to spend Christmas Day than at home watching _A Charlie Brown Christmas_. Cas was always doing what was best for others, was that not how they met in the first place?

Dean couldn’t help but think that, if he hadn’t met Cas earlier in the year, he could very well have been on the other side of this serving line today. When he was on his own, there seemed to be no positive outlook that could lead him anywhere but another street corner or seeking out Bobby and Ellen with profound reluctance. Instead, Cas had risked everything to get them where they were today. Not where they were physically, in this church helping the less fortunate, but where they were in terms of how much they meant to one another.

It was Cas who had convinced Dean to accept help in the form of a sandwich or a bag of clothes. It was Cas who had brought Dean in from the rain that night. It was Cas who had found Dean a job and given him a place to stay. It was Cas who had helped him through everything and loved him in spite of it all. Cas loved him. And Dean loved Cas.

It was a revelation, almost enough for Dean to forget that he was supposed to be serving food. His eyes sought Cas out from where he was giving presents to the children whose families probably hadn’t been able to get them much else. Dean could see the crinkles around his eyes as he talked with a young girl about the box of paints she was holding to her chest.

Dean loved Cas. From the moment that his shadow had fallen over Dean on the first day they met, Dean had been destined to fall for him in one way or another. And watching Cas’ face reflecting with the fairy lights strung across the room, Dean’s chest swelled with the nameless emotion he’d never allowed himself to consider until now.

Dean loved Cas, and he had to tell him.

He had to suffer through the rest of the Christmas dinner with a weight the size of the Chrysler building resting on his chest. Every breath he took was shaky with the anticipation of Cas’ response to Dean’s feelings. Cas had to love him back, right? After everything that they’d done, Cas shouldn’t be surprised by Dean finally saying those three words.

By the time they were in Cas’ car and on the drive back to their apartment, Dean was sure his chest would burst with the nerves fueling his erratic heartbeat. He wiped his hands on his jeans, trying to rid them of their clamminess and willing himself to speak. “Uh, C—Cas?” Dean sounded much too feeble for his liking, and despite the delicate topic he had no desire to remain timid.

Castiel made a noise in his throat to acknowledge he was listening, turning into the parking lot with a swift hand. It didn’t matter than Dean had had this moment on his mind for the past few hours, he was speechless when it finally mattered. “There’s something I need to say.”

When the engine was off, Cas sat back in his seat and gave Dean his full attention. Noting the wary look on Dean’s face and the man’s unwillingness to meet his eyes, Cas assumed a melancholic smile. “You don’t have to be so troubled. I understand, Dean.”

“Understand?” Dean pulled his eyebrows together, a symbol of confusion he’d likely adopted from his boyfriend.

“Of course, if you want to join your brother in California, I support you entirely. I’ll always be here if you decide to come back.” Castiel kept his words honest despite the dread that was seeping into his heart at having to say them.

“Cas, I don’t think you… I’m not planning on going to California.” Dean had absolutely no idea why Cas would assume this.

“But Sam—”

“Has his own life,” Dean interrupted him, trying to sound light. Before he could think, Dean rushed out with, “I was going to say I love you.” The second the words were no longer just a thought in his mind and a beating in his heart, Dean was horrorstruck. Cas seemed to be in a similar situation. The wind blew outside the car, swirling white in the fleeting light outside the windows.

Later, while the two lay in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms and savoring the warmth that could be provided by nothing more than pure bliss, Castiel would whisper the answering ‘I love you, too’ against Dean’s lips. And Dean would smile, because he smelled the cinnamon toothpaste on Castiel’s breath, and he would be reminded of just how horrible that flavor was, and just how much he had come to adore it.

 

The End


End file.
